


A Beautiful Lie

by RayRox360



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AKA Peter and his gang of pubescent bodyguards, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Child Abuse, Civil War Team Captain America, Civil War Team Iron Man, Conditioning, Hallucinations, Haphephobia, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, No Team Bashing, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Relationships, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Starvation Hoarding, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 441,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayRox360/pseuds/RayRox360
Summary: Head Down. Mouth shut. Quiet. Survive.Peter knows the drill. Richard Parker has been carving it into him for years now. Follow. Repeat. Do as you're told. But things get complicated after Germany, after Tony Stark. And suddenly the line starts getting blurry.Meanwhile, with the Avengers scattered and the Accords in pieces, Tony's a mess who's ready to crash and burn. Enter Spider-Kid, complete with bruises, excuses and a deep, dark secret that stretches far further than Tony first thought.Disjointed, dysfunctional, disastrous.Nothing can seem to describe the sheer catastrophe in waiting that lurks closer every second they spend together. Tony's depressed. Peter's afraid. They're both wrecks apart. Imagine the chaos that would come by putting them together.Still, who better to help a hero than another hero?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 175
Kudos: 685





	1. Rule 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Character Sheet 1: Team Iron Man](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/post/618883695543238656/character-sheet-1-team-iron-man)
> 
> All artwork done by me over on my blog for this story, [A Beautiful Lie Blog](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/)

****

**Part I**

**The Spider on Springshore Drive**

* * *

_(Everyone lies.)_

_(It’s not a sad fact, I don’t think. Barely even a fact at all. Just a reality of the world we live in, a staple nobody questions, nobody changes.)_

_(We all lie. Every one of us.)_

_(Parents lie to their kids, tell them about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, tell them about creatures that watch what they do and reward them for good behavior, if only to add another level of control over how their children act.)_

_(And it’s not like kids don’t get their revenge cause they lie right back to their parents. Tell them about their grades, their friends, what they do when their parents aren’t there watching their every move. They lie to keep up that facade of the perfect child, the figure their parents built up in their heads, so they won’t realize how disappointed they really are in what they became.)_

_(It’s not something you grow out of. As you get older, you keep on lying. You lie about everything, to everyone, at one point or another.)_

_(You lie about your career when your parents ask how happy you are staying in your dead-end office cubicle counting down the seconds until you can go home and start the cycle over again.)_

_(You lie to your spouse promising you’ll love them till the end of time, not realizing that sooner or later, that love will run out. And not just for them, for anyone and anything. It never lasts. Nothing does.)_

_(You lie to strangers when they ask you what you believe happens after death, spouting some scripted verse you learned as a child and stapled into your head, reciting lines you don’t really understand to people you don’t really care about, if only to convince yourself that you really do have a clue, that you aren’t just flying blind in a sea of the unknown.)_

_(And then there are the lies that stand out over all the others. The lies we tell ourselves.)_

_(There’s something different about them, something...bitter.)_

_(Lies you tell to other people, they breeze in, announce themselves and then float right back out. They never linger in your head for longer than it took to talk to the person, discarding themselves as unimportant the second that person leaves your line of sight, never to be seen or thought of again.)_

_(But the lies we tell ourselves, they don’t leave. They don’t breeze right back out. They linger, hover before your eyes, tracing over each and every detail until it’s burned in your head, until you can recreate it over and over again with perfect precision, not a single word out of place, until that lie has completely overtaken you, washing away anything and everything until it is all that remains. Until it is nothing but the truth.)_

_(Those lies are the most powerful...the most dangerous.)_

_(Because unlike the lies we throw at others, the lies we tell ourselves are so much louder, so much brighter, so much more painful. When you can’t live with what’s in front of you, so you have to create something else, a new reality for you to live in and accept as truth.)_

_(Because it is the truth. It’s the truth you want. And at the end of the day...what else matters?)_

_(Certainly not the little fib you woke up telling yourself.)_

_(After all, what harm can come from one little lie?)_

* * *

**Friday - March 4, 2016**

**Queens, NY - 2764 Springshore Dr. - Parker Residence**

**03:14 p.m.**

_One..._

The soft jolt tensing through his stomach signaled the elevator's ascent, familiar and uneasy. He nervously patted the side of his leg, the thick black wire of the cable cord thumping up against his thigh as he firmly held onto the dented DVD player, rescued from the dumpsters outside the apartments lining 32nd street.

_Two..._

Apart from the whirling of the elevator motors, the only other sound in the cold compartment was the quick, sharp _thumps_ of his foot tapping against the floor.

As usual, the ride up to his and his father's floor was calm and uneventful and _much_ too short.

_Three..._

Peter's tongue felt dry and puffy as beads of sweat rolled down his temple, seeming to ignore the sharp, cold blasts of AC that swirled through their building. His fingers frantically tapped up and down against the side of his pants as his eyes shifted from one place to another, never resting on a single detail for too long before leaping to the next.

_Four..._

With his eyes closed, Peter could name you every single dent, scratch, and imperfection in the elevator's surroundings, not that there were many.

His father prided himself on perfection.

_Five..._

He tried to ignore it, tried to pay no mind to the involuntary twitches and nervous shufflings of his feet back and forth against the floor below. They meant nothing, related to nothing, no more than his usual annoying jitters and nerves making a repeat appearance.

_Six..._

_. . ._

Well, perhaps there was one reason.

One reason why he found himself counting the seconds it took to reach the top of their townhouse floor, counting and praying the elevator would slow, that each second would carefully wind to a crawl, grind to a halt, never reaching those final ticks.

It was Friday.

His father came home early on Fridays.

_Seven..._

Any hopes of a work emergency or traffic on the roads were always expelled the second he caught sight of his father's expensive car parked outside their building, seated comfortably in the same spot as usual. And no matter how many times he blinked, it never disappeared. (Though it did make spotting the _other_ expensive-looking car parked near it that much harder to do.)

_Eight..._

He tapped his fingers in time to the whirring of the elevator motors, matching each click with his movements. It wasn't fair of him to wish his father away. He knew the man worked hard, put effort into giving his son everything he could. And Peter _did_ appreciate it, that was for sure.

_Nine..._

But sometimes...he really wished he could appreciate it from a distance.

A great distance.

_Ten._

The elevator stopped.

Peter took a breath and the doors slid open.

Long, expensive couches stretched out into the huge penthouse sweet on the left, a fully stocked bar to the right. The walls were round-about windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, letting in the light of the midday sun.

Peter, always one for silver linings, had to admit having an entire building to yourself was pretty cool. And the view wasn't too bad either. The teen couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face as he took in the sight of New York City.

Their building resided on the upper west side of Queens, allowing a stellar view of the East River and the bright lights of Manhattan just beyond it. Even from a considerable distance, the life of the central borough could be felt from here.

Quickly blinking back to reality, Peter reflexively lowered his gaze and began to make his way over to the bar. Judging from the silence in the large suite, Peter could only assume that his father was down in the basement working in the lab. If that was the case, then he probably wouldn't see him or the others until dinner.

Setting his backpack and DVD player down on the polished surface of the bar, Peter pulled his phone out of his back pocket and quickly opened it up, noting that Ned had sent him five new messages. If the emojis were any indicators, Peter could only guess that his friend had just bought a new Lego set and was raving to him about it.

Feeling a small smirk settle onto his face, Peter leaned back against the bar and folded his arms, quickly typing a message back to the boy when the sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention.

Snapping his head up, he nearly dropped his phone in shock as he caught sight of his father sitting on the couch in the center of the room, staring straight at him.

The man was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders highlighted by the suit he was currently wearing. He must have just gotten home. His dark brown hair was slicked back, framing his squared jaw and the discoloration on his cheeks. A chemical accident (or at least that's what he told people it came from) had left the man with a set of pale white spots that splashed over his cheeks in an almost unnoticeable look and set a faint, off-color film over one eye.

A set frown was drawn onto his face, the usual stoic emotion he exhibited, if one could even call it that.

"D-dad!" Peter stuttered out instinctively.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation washed over his body as an ache settled into his muscles, a familiar feeling when he was in the presence of his father. Speaking of, Peter quickly swallowed the lump in his throat like a daily pill to swallow and choke down. "I...I didn't know you were...uhh..." he said quietly, the words trailing off as he caught sight of something strange.

Peter's father, Richard Parker, was the owner of _Parkstem_ _Labs,_ one of the most successful enterprises in the city - despite its small size - specializing in engineering high-tech machinery to be sold to other multi-billion dollar corporations. His work often involved consultation and evaluation, so Peter was quite used to seeing strangers in their building. Heck, the first two floors of their townhouse were used to house some of his father's associates. But never in his life had Peter expected to see in his house the man he was currently staring at.

There, with one arm resting on the lip of the couch and another brandishing a glass of scotch, with two feet propped up on the coffee table, was none other than Tony Stark: famous (or infamous, depending on your perspective) genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, _sitting on his couch._

Talking to his father.

_Shit._

Peter's quickly felt the air leave his lungs, like he's just been punched in the stomach. Despite the jarring chill that ran up his spine at making eye contact with the billionaire, Peter found he couldn't look away.

A moment or two of awkward silence passed between the three of them, but Mr. Stark seemed to just brush it off with a flick of his hand as he cleared his throat. "Well, look who finally decided to show up." He rose up from the seat, straightening out the buttoning on his suit. "Mr. Parker," he greeted with a cool smile and a slight nod of his head.

Peter watched as his father rose up to his feet as well, the movement making his eyes quickly snap over to him to survey his body language. Hands folded behind his back, shoulders relaxed, feet still. Nothing too obvious...

"Umm...h-hey," Peter murmured lamely, unsure if he should be speaking or not. Probably not. "W-what...what are you, uh...doing here?" he asked, voice quiet and unsure. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to resist the urge to fiddle his hands together.

"Well, I believed it was about time we met." The man said casually, swirling the golden-colored liquid around his glass. "You've been getting my emails haven't you?"

The flurry of winks the man sent his way afterwards were anything but subtle. But Peter knew a signal when he saw one.

Why would Tony Stark be sending him signals though? What was happening here? Did his father know? Probably not? Then, what didn't he want his father to know?

Speaking of, Peter quickly stole a glance over to his father again. Now that he wasn't facing Mr. Stark, his posture had changed somewhat. His shoulders were tighter, back straight. Richard's face was pulled back into a cool smile, but Peter knew his father well enough to see when he was hiding his annoyance, if the man's twitching fingers told him anything.

Whatever Stark was playing at, he obviously didn't approve.

Peter knew he should ignore Stark's hints, refute whatever it was he was saying, if only to appease his father's wishes. But he felt his head moving in a nod before he could think twice. "Y-yeah, yeah...the...the emails r-regarding the, uh..."

"The September Foundation."

"The _September_ Foundation. R-right, right..." At least, he _hoped_ he was doing this right.

Tony took a small sip from his glass before setting it back down on the coffee table. "Yeah, remember when you applied?" He asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, I approved. You're in, kid. So...now we're in business."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, only to jump at his father's sudden movements, the man having stooped down to grab both his and Tony's glasses. "So, Peter..." He said evenly, voice calm and collected "Any particular reason for why you decided to hide this from me?" He asked, walking over to the bar and depositing the glasses in the small sink. "I mean, this is pretty big and instead of hearing it from my own son, I have to hear it from our city's resident billionaire."

Instantly feeling the familiar cold claw of dread squeezing around his lungs, Peter quickly tried to squash it down as he fought to come up with a suitable lie that would fool the man. Luckily, Tony seemed to notice the boy's nervousness as he walked over. "Ah, don't pluck the kid too harshly. This particular grant is a lot more private than our other ones considering it's so hands-on and personal, so when kids apply, they usually keep it on the down low, at least until something's guaranteed."

Peter quickly shut his mouth and nodded his head vigorously.

Richard glanced between the two of them for a moment before nodding his head as well. "I see." He stated simply, lowering his head as he turned on the faucet, a steady stream of water falling into the glasses in his hands. A smile broke into his face as he turned back to them. "Well Peter, I must say I'm pleasantly surprised. Though, I suppose I shouldn't be. After all, I know you're always working hard."

"Yes, well I'm sure that's to be expected from the son of one of the most prominent scientists in the manufacturing field. I must say, your work was pretty impressive, and it takes a lot to impress me." Tony quipped.

Richard lips pulled into a tight smile. "Yes, I'm sure it does."

A thick tension hung heavy in the air, so much so that Peter was finding it difficult to breathe as he stared back and forth between the two men. Mr. Stark didn't seem fazed by it, however as he placed his hands into his pockets as he turned to glance at Peter. "I guess that's a lot to live up to, huh kid." He asked, Peter's shoulders tensing as he gave a stiff nod.

Richard gave a small chuckle. "Yes well, while I'll admit my work does take up a considerable amount of my time, I'm still very proud of you, Peter. I'm sure you've earned this." He turned to continue cleaning the glasses. Peter didn't get to see his face as he said the words. He was almost positive the man _wasn't_ smiling.

"Speaking of which," Tony continued, raising up his hands as he gestured to the boy next to him. "You think I can speak to Peter alone for a second?"

Richard nodded his head. "Of course. Peter, show Mr. Stark to your room. You can talk about whatever you need in there."

Peter mutely nodded his head as he hesitantly grabbed his backpack and hastily slung it over his shoulder before picking up the DVD player and shuffling down the hall, Mr. Stark following close behind.

As the footfall of their steps slowly tricked down into silence, Richard turned away from the hall and back down to the glasses, the rushing of the water now the only sound in the room.

His fingers curled around the last remaining cup tightly until the glass suddenly gave way, shattering into dozens of pieces. Richard didn't even flinch as the glass sliced his finger open. He merely watched as the water ran across the wound, washing the blood off of the skin and down into the drain below.

**. . . . .**

Tony's eyes scanned the hall as they walked swiftly and silently, the billionaire thankful the kid wasn't yapping his ear off as he'd been expecting. The house was as he'd expected: lavish and dripping with expenses and riches from the fine art lining the walls to the expensive liquors stashed in the bottles by the bar all the way down to the sheer size of the building itself. Seemed about right for a billionaire and his son. Speaking of...

The man glanced back over towards the kid, who was fiddling with his hands as they approached the final door at the end of the hallway. The teen opened it and moved aside to let Tony through before following him in.

Stepping through, Tony turned to watch the kid enter, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he let a smirk quirk onto his lips. "Well...your father seems like quite an... _interesting_ man." He watched the kid's face to gauge a reaction.

Peter shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. "I-I guess..." he mumbled softly as he glanced down at the floor.

Tony gave a small nod of his head before turning back to gaze around the room, despite his attention being elsewhere. He stared down at the boy's desk, taking note of the various VCRs, DVD players and other old, probably abandoned sets of machinery. Each and every one had been cracked open, various chips and wires strewn about the desk. "So...you've been busy." He plucked6trg a small wired chip up off from the messy table, Peter tensing slightly at the action. "Where'd you get this crap anyway?" Tony asked, glancing back at the kid. "Something tells me most kids aren't lining up at the nearest game station to buy this junk."

Peter merely shrugged his shoulders. "You'd be surprised by the kind of stuff you find in the trash."

"You're a _dumpster diver?"_

"Well, I-I don't...I mean I-" The kid's face quickly went flush from either nervousness or just plain embarrassment before he was glancing away with a little huff. "Okay, umm...listen, I _know_ I didn't sign up for...for a-any grant or-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Tony snapped sharply, waving his hand for added effect. "Me first."

"O-okay..."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "Quick question of the rhetorical variety..." Tapping his fingers across the device, a small holographic screen materialized above the surface, facing out towards Peter.

"That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a suspicious man walking up to the side windows of a car, only for a masked man dressed in red and blue to swing out from the corner of the screen. A strange line shot out towards the man, wrapping around his ankles and dragging him to the ground as the masked figure swung back out of frame. But not before the video paused right as his face flashed next to the camera, revealing a red hoodie with large black goggles.

The teen's eyes trailed from the hologram up to meet Tony's, if only for a second before he was glancing away again, rubbing the back of his neck as his shoulders stood stiff, voice strained. "Uh, no. No, what do you...what do you mean?"

"Yeah..." Tony corrected before switching to another video, this one showing the same masked figure zooming in front of a speeding car. "...yeah, look at you go." Quickly landing on the ground, the figure caught the vehicle before it could slam into the side of a fully-loaded bus.

"Whoa, nice catch," he mused. "Three thousand pounds, forty miles an hour?" He flipped the phone and quickly retracted the hologram, pointing the end of the device at Peter. "That's not easy. Guess you have a bit of skill, huh kid?"

He could see the kid beginning to flounder, shuffling his feet back and forth as he struggled with where to put his hands. "Well, I mean, y-you found that all on YouTube though, r-right?" He asked, glancing over at the man before staring down back at the desk. "I mean, that's where you found it? Cause you know that's all fake," he rambled, never noticing the way Tony rolled his eyes and began to mill around the room.

As he scanned the bedroom, his eyes fell upon the thin, barely noticeable lines etched into the side of the bed headboard, creating a long vertical rectangle.

"Like, that's all done on the computer. It's like that video-"

"Uh-huh, you mean like those UFOs over Phoenix?" Tony called out as the kid continued to mumble, tracing his fingers over the lines before he pressed his thumb into the center of the rectangle.

The entire piece pushed in slightly before extending outwards from the headboard, revealing a secret compartment containing what the billionaire could honestly say to be the most ghastly costume he'd ever seen.

"Well, what do we have here?" He asked as Peter rushed forward, thrusting his arm into the compartment before ripping the pile of clothes out, tossing them into the open closet in the span of a few seconds.

"That's uh...ummm..." the kid's voice trailed off into nothing, his back rigid and posture tense as his eyes continued to flicker up and down, like he was debating whether or not to maintain eye contact before deciding to simply keep staring at the floor.

"So..." Tony sighed, turning to face the boy. "You're the Spider...ling. Crime-fighting Spider. Spider-Boy?"

Peter's fingers twitched against his arm. His eyes flittered around the room, landing anywhere but on the man before him.

"S-Spider-Man..."

Tony couldn't help but scoff. "Not in that onesie, you're not."

He noticed the kid's nose scrunch slightly in annoyance, the only real tell of emotion he'd seen on the teen's face. "It's not a onesie," he muttered as he walked back the man and back over towards the desk. Noticing how some of the circuit chips were out of line, he reached down and quietly adjusted them, straightening them out once more.

"Can't believe this." He muttered softly. "You know...I was having a...a really good day today, Mr. Stark. Didn't miss my train. This...perfectly good DVD player was just sitting there, and algebra test..." He tapped the end of a screwdriver down onto the desk. "...nailed it."

Tony regarded the boy in front of him for a moment before opening his mouth once more. "Who else knows? Anybody?" He asked, watching as Peter glanced over at him before lowering his head once more, giving a small, barely noticeable shake of his head. "Nobody important." He whispered.

"Not even your... _exceptionally_ wonderful father?" Tony scoffed, only to blink in shock as Peter rounded on him, eyes blazing. "No! He _can't_ know about this! He can _never_ know about this!" he practically screamed, eyes glazing over in a wash of panic. "About the crime-fighting, about the suit. He can't know _any_ of it! _They_ can't know any of it!"

Tony stared at him, trying to process the words that had been spat at him. He narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. "' _They?'"_ He parroted.

Peter's head snapped up to him as they made hard eye contact for a brief moment. Whatever fire had entered the kid's system quickly died down as he lowered his head pressed his palms into the surface of his desk, hair falling down to cover his face as he let out a tired sigh.

Tony knew that sigh. Tony _owned_ that sigh.

The billionaire couldn't help the bubble of confusion that grew larger with each passing second he spent in the house. He knew Richard Parker, not personally, but he knew _of_ him. The city practically drooled at his feet, what with his constant donations and repeat appearances at this or that charity ball.

Everyone else seemed to lap up the " _White Knight_ " appeal, but Tony could see right through it, could see the tricks of a con man that only another liar could find. He knew Richard Parker was a douchebag in disguise, and he'd fully expected his son, superpowered or otherwise, to be exactly the same.

Which was why he was so _confused_ right now.

Peter Parker, from what the man had seen so far, was _nothing_ like his father. Richard was cool and calm, a master of wordplay and conversation, exuding confidence and style and money. But his son? His son was obviously shy and soft-spoken. Just his body language, the way he constantly fidgeted with his fingers or averted his gaze or wrapped his arms around himself in a blatantly defensive manner, told Tony the kid was nervous...a _lot._ In fact, they hadn't managed to maintain steady eye contact the entire conversation. The kid always looked away in...in... _fear?_

The whole thing left a bad taste in Tony's mouth. However, knowing he'd come here with a single goal, he quickly tried to refocus back on the mission. He didn't have time for distractions.

He cleared his throat and glanced back over at the boy, who was staring down at the ground looking as if he'd much rather be anywhere else.

"You know what I think it really cool?" He called, Peter not even bothering to look at him. "This webbing." He lifted his arm and flicked the small metallic casing over to the boy, who caught it without even lifting his eyes. "Tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?"

Peter let out a small sigh and reluctantly lifted up his head, fingering the cold casing in his palm. "I did," he mumbled before tossing the case into his closet, where it effortlessly flopped into his hamper. "What do you think all this stuff's for?" He pointed down to the scrapped parts and loose wires of the machines strewn about his desk.

Mr. Stark sat down on the computer chair resting next to the boy's dresser, reaching back into the closet to pull out the kid's suit. "Climbing the walls? How are you doing that? Adhesive gloves?" He asked as he ran his fingers over the sewn material of the boy's costume.

Peter bit the bottom of his lip and turned away. "It's...uh..i-it's a long...long story," he mumbled.

"Lordy!" Peter jumped at Tony's cry. "Can you even see in these things?!" He asked as he stared at the goggles attached to the suit, Peter quickly yanking the costume out of his hands as the man mocked him, cheeks burning red as he opened up the compartment in his headboard and thrust the suit back inside.

"If you're all done _mocking_ me," Peter snapped, glaring over at the man before he seemed to remember who he was snapping _at_ and took a small step back, face glazing over in regret as he bit his lip and stared nervously at the man, like he was waiting for some sort of retaliation. Tony quirked a brow and Peter glanced away with a new hint of red on his cheeks.

The teen swallowed thickly and spoke again, but his voice was much quieter this time. "When...w-when whatever happened happened...it's like my senses have been dialed up to eleven. T-there's just...there's way too much input for me. So, these...they just help...help me focus...is all." He continued to shuffle away before tentatively plopping down onto the corner of his bed.

Tony stared at the kid currently fiddling with his fingers, small curls falling into his eyes. The man let out a sigh as he shook his head. "You're in dire need of an upgrade, kid." He muttered. "Systemic, top to bottom. 100-point restoration. That's why I'm here."

He watched the boy continue to fiddle with his hands, refusing to even meet his gaze. If he didn't know any better, Tony would never guess that the kid in front of him had anything to do with the new vigilante running around the streets of New York. There had to be something he wasn't seeing, something he was missing.

"Why are you doing this?"

Peter's head lifted at that, brows furrowing in confusion.

"I got to know. What gets you out of this room in the morning. No, actually...better question: why the _hell_ is your room so clean? You're what - _fourteen?_ Shouldn't you have...I don't know, piles of clothes mixed with half-eaten apples and finger painting sets strewn about all over," he asked. After all, the only "mess" he could detect in the room was the pile of tech on the boy's desk.

"Finger pain...? What kind of kids have _you_ been hanging around?"

"I don't know. It's not like I have much practice with this kind of stuff. You really think I look like the kind of guy that lurks around daycare centers all day long?" Tony muttered before his eyes widened slightly. "...that came out wrong."

The kid snorted softly and let out a little laugh, Tony leaning back slightly in his seat. "Oh, so you _do_ smile. And here I thought your face muscles couldn't do such a thing. What are they, out of practice or something?"

The kid smiled softly before glancing back up at the man, noticing the way he was staring at him. Quickly realizing he was still expecting an answer, Peter let out a small sigh and stared back down at his fingers. For a moment, Tony wondered whether the boy would simply refuse to answer, but after a moment, Peter let out a small chuckle.

"You know, everyone around here has heard of the Avengers. I mean, after the aliens, you'd have to try really, really hard to stay oblivious you know?" He asked, not bothering to wait for a response. "People nowadays know about superheroes, about those _amazing_ people with _amazing_ powers and _amazing_ lives. And...and you'd think that having people like that out there...people to _protect_ you out there...you'd feel safe. You think...'nothing bad is going to happen. We have people watching out for us. _Strong_ people. _Good_ people."

He paused, the smile quickly slipping off of his face. "But...every day, there's a bank being robbed, there's a guy being mugged. There's... _someone_ who needs help, who's calling for help, for...for _someone_ to just scoop them up and...and take them away from it all..." He paused, his face taking on an almost _bitter_ look. "...but it never comes."

Tony watched him silently, leaning forward slightly in the chair as he listened.

"You start to wonder...how...how people with such powers and such amazing skills can just... _sit by_ and do... _nothing_ while you're suffering right under their noses. If...if they can do such great things...if they can save the world over and over and _over_ again...then why couldn't they save you?" He paused, Tony making out the way Peter's chest seemed to heave slightly before his breathing evened out.

"The people around here have realized something. In the grand scheme of things, when it comes to people who have made it their job to save the world from harm...they don't matter. They're not... _important_ enough to be saved."

Peter stared down at his hands, paused for a moment to run his fingers over his palms. Tony noticed they looked rough and scarred. In the back of his head, he couldn't help but wonder how long the kid had been flying under his radar without him even knowing about it.

"That's why I do this," the kid finally said. "So those people who think they're alone know there's someone out there who's with them. So those people who...who are scared know there's someone there to protect them. So those people who think..." He swallowed thickly before continuing. "...who think they'll never be saved know there's someone there to look out for them...there's someone that _cares_ about them."

Tony narrowed his eyes as he took in the boy before him, letting his words sink in as Peter glanced up at him.

"Cause...cause those people down there..." He gestured over to the window. "Those people who work from sunrise to sunset...those people who wake up every morning, have breakfast with there family and kiss their loved ones goodbye as they go to work or...or to school...those people like _me_...they don't need someone to save the _entire_ world...they just need someone to save theirs."

Tony said nothing as the kid turned away, simply pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he let out a little breath. He leaned back in the chair once again, tapping his fingers against his knee. "So...you wanna look out for the little guy, you wanna...do your part...make the world a better place, all that right?"

The kid spared a hesitant glance up before giving a little nod.

Tony let out a sigh as he slowly lifted himself up out of the chair and made his way over to Peter. Walking across the large room, he stopped beside the kid's bed before slowly lowering himself down on it, noticing the way Peter's muscles instantly tensed, though his eyes stayed glued to his fingers.

Tony lifted his arm hesitantly, thinking of patting the kid on the shoulder before deciding against it. The kid was already shifting from his seat on the bed as if he were trying to get as far away from the man as possible. Tony filed it away as odd, just another strange thing about Peter Parker.

Oh, well. He could use a little strange right about now.

"Got a passport?"

"Uhh...umm, no. N-no...I don't...I don't even have a driver's license"

"You ever been to Germany?"

"Uhh...no?"

"Oh you'll love it!"

Peter reared back. "I can't go to Germany!" 

"Why not?

"I...I-I..." Peter stuttered out, now much more unsure of himself. "I got...homework."

Tony paused for a minute before shaking his head. "Alright, I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that." He muttered as he rose up from the bed, ignoring Peter's sputtering protests, knowing full well the kid actually wanted to go. He was merely trying to keep up with the façade. Still, Tony just needed one more thing to confirm that Peter was really who they needed...

"It'll probably be a little dangerous. Better tell _World's Greatest Dad_ that-"

The words were cut from his throat as he watched Peter spring up to his feet faster than humanly possible, thrusting his arm forward as a line of webbing flew outward, wrapping around Tony's hand and effectively trapping him to the door handle.

The billionaire stared down at the sight before lifting his gaze back over to Peter, who for the first time since he'd met him was now staring Tony straight in the eyes, a determined look adorning his face. He slowly lifted up his finger, pointing it threateningly at the man before him. " _Don't_ tell my father." He growled out.

Tony leveled a stare at the kid, his confirmation now staring him dead in the eyes. _This_ was the kid he was looking for. "Alright, Spider-Man." He said calmly. In the back of his mind, he knew bringing a fourteen-year-old kid along on what could only be assumed to be an _incredibly_ dangerous mission probably _wasn't_ the best of plans, but he'd run out of options. Besides, the kid needed _something_ to help him out in his endeavors, who was to say Tony couldn't be that something, if only for a little while.

"Get me out of this."

"So-sorry...sorry!"

In the end, he knew he probably wouldn't worry about it too much. The kid would get a new suit and he'd get a new recruit. Win-win. Perfect. After this was all over, he'd drop the kid back home, give him the suit permanently and be on his merry way, undoubtedly forgetting the kid after a few weeks. After all, this would simply be a one-time thing. Get in. Get out.

Meet the kid. Help the kid. Forget the kid.

It'd be simple...

... _right?_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_(In hindsight, we both should have known it could never be that simple.)_


	2. The Impulse Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally turned away from the stairs, lifted his head to gaze back to where Peter had disappeared to. His arm burned, he could feel it eating away at him.
> 
> ("This isn't gonna change what happened.")
> 
> . . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> No...it wouldn't.
> 
> The office door closed behind him as Tony reentered the room. "I want Peter to come intern for me at Stark Industries."
> 
> But he did it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ A Beautiful Lie Blog (where I'll include character sheets and artwork that I or others create of this particular story)](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Chapter Artwork done by ME!](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/post/613411922896945152/you-knowmy-father-was-never-really-good-at-the)

**Sunday - March 6, 2016**

**Queens, NY - Jackson Ave - en route to Parker Residence**

**09:46 p.m.**

The car ride was silent. Tony didn't like that.

Normally, when he found himself being dragged one place or another, he'd crank the radio up as loud as it could go, blaring music that drowned out everything around him, including his thoughts. He liked it. He was used to it.

He wasn't used to silence.

And yet, as the car sped down the bumpy and pothole-filled roads of Queens, there was no noise save for the dull tapping of the kid's foot against the car floor, a constant beat that filled the otherwise silent backseat.

It was honestly getting to be pretty annoying.

Tony spared the teen a small glance from the corner of his eye, the image distorted slightly with the yellow tint of the sunglasses he'd refused to take off, if only to hide the bruise he'd yet to acknowledge.

There were a lot of things he was electing to ignore right now.

Parker's kid...Peter was quiet. He hadn't said anything since they'd met up at the airport, Tony greeting the kid as soon as he'd gotten off the plane from Germany, where he'd stowed the kid away in his hotel room for the better part of the trip, truly embracing the concept of _out of sight, out of mind._

But now the kid was very much in his sight, very much at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he disliked it.

Looking at the kid, it was hard for the billionaire to connect him to the loud-mouthed, confident hero he'd seen fighting alongside him.

The boy next to him was silent, knee bouncing and posture stiff against the seats. He'd pulled his sleeves up to cover overtop his hands, where he fisted the remaining fabric in a tight grip. His head was turned towards the window so Tony couldn't get a read on his face, but if he had to guess, it assumed it wasn't calm and collected.

Tony lifted his gaze towards the front of the car, where he locked eyes with Happy in the rearview mirror. The man angled his gaze to the side, obviously just as lost with the kid as Tony felt. The billionaire gave a little shrug of his shoulders, to which Happy just rolled his eyes and stared straight ahead again. Tony scoffed, not surprised that Happy hadn't been any help. The guy was just about as proficient with children as Tony was, which was to say not at all.

Still, the silence was starting to make him itch.

He reached a hand out to touch the boy's shoulder. "Hey-"

He couldn't even get another word out before the kid was jolting back at the touch, letting out a strangled yelp as he rammed his back into the side of the door, eyes flinging over to stare at Tony like he'd shocked him. Said man reared back as well as the jump, whipping his hand away as he choked on his spit.

" _Jesus, kid,"_ he breathed, letting out a little cough as he cleared his throat, Happy throwing a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Everything okay back there?"

Tony turned to his driver before glancing back at the kid, whose cheeks were slightly redder as he fiddled with his sleeves. "S-sorry. I...I wasn't expecting...I mean I...j-just...sorry."

He blinked, cleared his throat again as he shifted in his seat.

"Yeah...we're fine."

The billionaire readjusted his glasses and gave a little shake of his head, stilling for just a moment as he squinted his eyes slightly in thought. The kid looked at him strangely before jolting as Tony finally moved again, shrugging his shoulders as he did so. "Well, now I don't remember what I was going to say. Must not have been that important. Anyway-"

He removed his glasses and gestured towards the kid with them. "I can't get a good read on you, you know."

Apparently, the teen _didn't_ know, for he tilted his head and gazed at him with a perplexed squint. "I...I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you are. But like I said, you're just... _weird_. I don't know how else to phrase it. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I would just peg you as an ordinary kid with no connection to superhero life whatsoever. Like, the thought wouldn't even cross my mind."

Peter continued to give him confused looks. "But...isn't that a... _good_ thing?"

Tony stared at the boy, stared at his hunched form, the way he kept pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, tugging them overtop his hands as he meddled with the fabric, eyes darting back and forth across his face like they were scanning him for a certain emotion, a specific reaction.

For some reason, it made Tony uneasy.

"I guess."

Peter blinked for a moment before turning away again, going back to staring out the window. Tony did as well, brows furrowing slightly.

_What was the point of that conversation?_

. . .

_Right. Silence._

"So, what'd you think of Germany?"

The kid seemed startled that the man was still talking to him, twisting around slightly in his seat so he could better face him. "It was good. I=I mean, I didn't get to see...see much of it, b-but the parts I did see were cool. T-their airports are nice, at least. Well, I mean...I...I only saw the one. But it looked pretty...nice. At least, you know...before we started blowing it up and...um...I-I mean, it was...and, uh...s-sorry."

Tony squinted at him, mouth parted slightly as he cocked a brow. "You...don't have to keep apologizing, you know."

"S-sorry...?"

The man blew out a long breath as he turned back around to face forward, placing his sunglasses back onto his face. Screw it. He'd take silence over whatever this was.

Peter said nothing more, just turned back around to face the window. Tony threw him a quick glance before shaking his head, forcing himself to face forward once more. _He'll be fine,_ he muttered to himself. After all, he had bigger problems at the moment than worrying about whether or not he'd hurt some kid's feelings.

His arm twinged in pain, almost as if reminding him that it was still there, that it hadn't gone away.

He'd taken the sling off as soon as he'd touched down in Germany again, the medical team that Pepper had dispatched for the rescue jet forcing him to wear it until he'd broken free from their annoying grasp. Not that he was ungrateful to them for plucking him from the middle of fuck-knows-where Siberia, but their constant poking and prodding hadn't done much for his already rocky temperament.

Of course, having to explain to Pepper what the hell had happened wasn't much better. Sparing her the gruesome details, much to her annoyance, Tony had brushed her off with the promise to tell her everything once they returned to New York after dropping off Spider-Man, a promise they both knew would go unfulfilled.

But at least the kid was already proving useful as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Tony reached a hand out to rub at his wrist, the shots of pain rocketing up the limb in sharp twinges. He gritted his teeth and tried to push it down, push it all down. Now was not the time, not the time to think about Siberia, or Pepper, or St-

He huffed and faced the window, driving the thought out before it could even fully metastasize in his mind.

Needing something to distract his eyes, the man stole a quick glance back over towards the teen, who hadn't moved from his position of staring out the window.

He had to admit, Peter had been a fairly big help in Germany. Granted, with how pitifully small their team had been, Tony would have been grateful to anyone for sticking around.

_At least he didn't double-cross you._

Needless to say, the bar was low in terms of Tony's ideas of good teammates.

Still, the kid had more than proven himself with that fight, at least enough to prove to Tony that he was responsible enough to handle the suit. He hadn't put much thought into it if he were being honest, but how much trouble could the kid cause? He seemed nice enough, responsible, smart. What else was there to consider? Not like there was much point in Tony keeping the suit, anyway.

The drive lasted longer than Tony had anticipated, or desired. After a few sharp exchanges between him and Happy on which route was better to take while Peter sat back in the awkwardness, they finally arrived at the kid's place.

The three-story townhouse was on the corner of the busy street, dark wooden paneling combining with strong concrete shapes to create a modern feel and sharp design. Large windows adorned most of the walls while the top penthouse floor consisted of almost nothing _but_ the glass panels. Down near the parking awning sat a row of cars.

Tony cocked a brow. He didn't remember seeing this many cars when he'd first requited the kid. Speaking of, he turned to glance over at Peter, who was staring at the house with an unreadable expression on his face. His knee hadn't stopped bouncing though.

"Company?" Tony asked.

The boy didn't turn to look at him, just kept staring past him at the dark looming house across the street. "Family." His voice was quiet, quieter than before.

"I thought it was just you and your dad."

"They're not biologically related to us. They're just some of my dad's friends. They're really close and they've been taking care of me since I was little and my dad was busy with work, so they're basically aunts and uncles at this point."

He wasn't stuttering. And there was something about the statement that seemed strange, like it was too carefully planned. _Scripted_.

Tony leaned back slightly in his seat. "You guys get along?"

The boy blinked and finally lowered his gaze. "I guess. As...as well as we can, all things considered. M-my friend and I usually just call them the Cons."

"And that's because-?"

"Because more than half of them are ex-convicts who spent more than ten years in maximum-security...prisons."

The teen faltered at the end of the sentence, eyes widening ever so slightly as he glanced around like he regretted saying what he'd just said. Tony turned back towards the window. "Right. Well, nice to know you have plenty of upstanding role-models to take after."

Tony counted four adults, three men, and a woman. And he didn't like the looks of _any_ of them.

Two men sat on the top step. One was large and bulky with short brown hair and a green striped shirt. Even though he was sitting, it was obvious the man was well over six feet tall. His hands were large and calloused, his face hard and menacing. The man next to him seemed to be even taller and was almost sickeningly skinny, but the malicious smile plastered on his face was enough to warrant caution. His eyes were small and beady and his face was pale and sickly, bony fingers tapping against his knee rhythmically.

Leaning up against the door was a woman with jet-black hair that matched her jacket and stretched down to her neck, contrasting her pale complexion. Sharp blue eyes stood out, as well as the cruel smirk that adorned her lips as she chatted to the others. Her eyes fluttered between each of the men, sharp nails curling around her crossed arms.

Finally, standing by the bottom was one final man dressed in a loosely buttoned black shirt that revealed toned, dark-colored muscles underneath, a multitude of rings adorning his fingers. His face was littered with numerous scars and his eyes shifted dangerously between each of the others.

In each of their hands was a bottle of beer, matching the other empty ones that were scattered along the steps.

Safe to say, they _all_ gave Tony uneasy vibes. Apparently, Peter too, for the kid still hadn't stopped fidgeting.

"So they seem...interesting..." Tony joked, only for Peter to shut his eyes tightly and run a shaky hand through his mop of curls. Tony glanced down at the teen, stealing one last look at the group, appropriately nicknamed the _Cons_ before leaning forward to address his driver. "Hey, Happy. Think you can give me and the kid a second?"

The man twisted around in the seat and gave Tony an incredulous look. "You want me to leave the car?"

"Yeah. Oh, and you can go ahead and get Peter's case out of the trunk."

Peter instantly froze at that, Happy letting out a grumble as he opened up his door and stepped outside, slamming it shut with a little more force than needed. The kid didn't seem to notice, however, as his eyes stayed locked onto Tony. "I-I get...I get to keep the suit?" He whispered out.

"Well yeah. It's not like it fits me. Besides, the red and gold suit is enough already. I don't know how the public would react if I suddenly traded it in for red and blue _spandex_."

"I don...I-I...but you...and I-"

"What's so hard to believe about this, if I may ask?" Tony said, cutting the kid off from his stutter-fest, knowing they might have been there for a while if he'd let it play out.

Peter furrowed his brow. "Well...I mean...I understand why you gave it to me...before. You n-needed some help and...and now that it's finished...I just a-assumed that-"

Tony shook his head, holding his hand up. "Look, kid. I gave you the suit to _help_ you. Did it come in handy in Berlin? Sure. But that's not the only reason why I gave it to you. I wasn't lying when I said I would help. Ergo, the suit."

Peter continued to stare up at him with wide eyes, the sight quickly making the billionaire uncomfortable as he shook his hands in front of himself. "Look, kid, don't make this any more awkward than it already is. Just take the suit, alright?" He muttered.

This seemed to snap Peter out of his daze as he nodded his head. "Umm...r-right. O-of...of course, Mr. Stark...T-thank...thank you." he finally stuttered out.

Tony stared at the kid before nodding his head in satisfaction.

_Great. Cross that off the list._

Just then, Happy knocked on the window, both turning their heads to look at him as he heaved the case up. "Where's this going again?!" He called through the glass.

"Uhh...I'll go ahead a-and take that. You don't need t-to worry about it." Peter called, Happy nodding as he unceremoniously dropped the case back onto the floor before moving back over to the trunk.

Tony rolled his eyes at the man's antics before his eyes were slowly drawn back over to the Cons still currently chatting amongst themselves on the steps. The uneasy feeling in his gut had yet to go away. In fact, it seemed to have amplified in the few minutes he'd been talking to the kid.

He opened his mouth to speak once again, only to shut it violently, reprimanding himself instantly. There was _no way_ he was thinking of getting involved. _No way._ This kid was _not_ his problem, his alter-ego was. There was a big difference, as this car ride had proven. He had no reason to burden himself with such a task. Who was he to get involved in something like this, something that didn't involve him?

He tried to ignore the fact that Peter had yet to get out of the car, like he was stalling for some reason.

This wasn't his place, plain and simple. It wasn't his problem.

Still, as he glared out the window at the Cons, the feeling in his stomach _refused_ to go away. There was something off about all of this. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

. . .

Well...it couldn't hurt to just _check,_ right?

"Hey, kid?"

Peter lifted up his head and glanced over at the man, eyes wide and nervous. Tony stared at the boy for a moment, wondering whether or not he should actually go through with this before he finally let out a sigh. "Is everything..." He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Is everything okay?"

He honestly didn't know what to expect. He didn't even know what he _wanted_ to expect, what he wanted the kid to _say._ It was obvious whatever relationship this kid had with his..."family" was unorthodox, but that didn't necessarily mean it was... _bad,_ did it? Maybe the kid was just the nervous type. Who really knew?

Whatever he'd been expecting Peter to say definitely isn't what he got.

The teen let out a breathy laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay? Y-yeah... _yeah,_ everything's fine. Actually, things are better than fine." He gave a small smile.

"T-this was...I mean it was so...cause like when...and then the stuff with the..." The kid glanced over at Tony and gave a nervous smile. "This w-was really cool, Mr. Stark. A-and I know you...you didn't _have_ to bring me along...you didn't have to give me a new suit...so...so I just...I guess I'm trying to..." He trailed off, a grimace forming on his face before it was replaced with an exasperated look. "I'm not really the best at this in case you can't tell."

Tony couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He mused, Peter cracking a smile as he rubbed his neck, cheeks flushing red.

The teen let out a small sigh before turning back to Tony. "But really, Mr. Stark. Just... thank you...f-for...for all of this."

The billionaire stared at the kid for a moment longer before giving a small nod of his head. "Don't mention it." He said in a much softer tone of voice than he'd expected, never registering the fact that the kid had just deflected his original question.

Peter gave a nod of his own before reaching for the car handle, pushing the door open before stepping out. He grabbed hold of the case currently sitting at his feet before glancing back into the open car, giving a small hesitant wave.

For a second, Tony almost returned it.

Almost.

Closing the door behind him, Peter lifted up the case and took a small, shaky breath. Exhaling slowly, he lifted his gaze across the street, where the Cons were still laughing away at whatever inane thing they were discussing.

Tony watched with a careful eye as Peter made his way across the street, the sound of a shutting door making the man jump slightly. "You ready to go?" Happy asked, glancing over his shoulder. Tony instantly felt his stomach churn slightly as he watched one of the Cons finally take notice of the approaching Peter. "Hold up for a second, Hap." He said softly, rolling down the window to better hear what was being discussed. "Just...hold up."

The woman was the first to notice Peter's approach, pulling the beer bottle from her lips as she smirked. "Well, look who's here! It's our favorite guy." There was a slight slur to the end of her words, her smirk remaining steadfast though.

The kid said nothing as the others noticed him as well.

The man in the stripped shirt spoke next. "So, you're back from your little Stark Industries Indoctrination Camp." He leaned forward, letting his elbows rest on his knees. "Was it fun? You learn how to swindle and cheat your way to the top?"

"I think that's part of the more advanced classes," the skinny man replied with a grin as he took another swig of his drink.

Tony could see Peter's fingers drumming against the handle of the case, his head down as he refused to meet their gazes. "I'm...a little tired. I think I'll-" As the boy tried to move past, the woman latched a hand onto his wrist and yanked him back down, the teen catching himself just before he could fall down the steps. "Stay and talk to us? I think so! You're not trying to leave without giving us a proper hello, are you? Cause I gotta say, that would be very rude of you."

The skinny man chuckled. "And we know our little Peter is anything but rude."

The larger man finished off his drink and threw the bottle to the floor, where it shattered into numerous little shards against the cement below. "So, you make any friends?"

The woman grinned. "As in, were you able to trick anybody into thinking you're interesting enough to get to know?"

"Seems a bit too difficult for him, Sandra."

She scoffed in reply. "Aw, come on." She reached forward and placed her hands on either side of the boy's face. He tried to pull away, but her grip remained tight. "Look at this adorable face! Who wouldn't want to walk all over him? It's just so easy."

Peter wrenched himself away, only to run into the only other man who hadn't spoken yet: the dark-skinned, tattooed man. He glared down at the boy, the look in his eyes much different than the others, completely sober.

"What about Stark? Did you see him?"

The teen stared up the man with a new look in his eyes and a new stiffness to his posture, like he was more on edge facing off against him. "He...he was around."

"Did you _talk_ to him?" the man growled impatiently.

Peter lowered his gaze to stare down at the floor. "He was...really busy. I-I didn't really get the chance to-"

" _Bullshit,_ " the leaner man scoffed with a narrowed gaze. "You want us to believe he didn't make time for you, a kid he took time out of his day to personally come by and meet?" He leaned closer, a little smirk revealing yellowed teeth. "That's what your dad told us, told us Stark crawled all the way down from his little tower just to come say hi to you. You must have done something awfully interesting."

The man took a step closer. Peter took one back. "Interesting indeed. Interesting enough for you to hide it from us." Another step closer. "I don't like that. And your dad doesn't either. He said as much while you were gone. Did you know that?" He leaned down, closer to the boy's face.

Peter turned his head away, his grip on the case shaking. "I'm really tired..." His voice was little more than a whisper. The man barreled right past it.

"We talked a lot while you were gone, Peter. Talked about you bringing Stark into our house, bringing him around our business, all the while keeping silent about it, covering it up, hiding it from us, your own family." His shadow was dark and imposing, stretching overtop the boy. "Is there anything else you're trying to hide, Peter? Or was that all?"

The teen tried to take another step back, only for the man to roughly grab his arm, keeping him from retreating. "More importantly," his eyes narrowed and he pulled the boy closer." Why didn't we hear about it from you?"

They watched from the car, watched and listened.

"Tony..." Happy murmured with a soft, strained tone, face taking on an uneasy look as he watched the exchange, eyes glued to the group across the street. Tony said nothing, just kept his gaze on the kid, on the kid being surrounded by a gang of drunken adults twice his size.

He said nothing.

The woman approached Peter and the other man, leaning closer to the former. "Max, not here..." she whispered, casting a few glances down the street, most likely to watch for anyone passing by The man - Max, growled and curled his lip before roughly letting the boy go, Peter stumbling back as he whisked his arm close to his chest.

"Fine. Then you're gonna tell us about the conference. In detail

Peter ducked his head and merely shrugged his shoulders, ripping his arm out of the man's grip, their words making his fingers curl tightly around the metal handle. "I-I ... I guess...I mean...I do-don't really-"

He cleared his throat.

"Maybe w-we can talk a-about this in...in the morn-" He started as he reached towards the door, only for the leaner man to grab onto the back of his hoodie, dragging him back down the steps once again.

A small, shocked yelp escaped the teen as he stumbled against his feet before quickly righting himself. "Come on! What's the rush? We're only curious about how your little trip went." The man sneered, face leaning closer towards the kid's. Peter flinched and turned his head away, sidestepping away from the man, only for his back to run into the chest of another.

"It...it was fine, alright." He finally choked out. "There w-was... I mean it was...and there w-was...a... a lot of inventions and robotics blueprints to work with...and...a-and-"

"What's in the case?"

"...W-what?"

The dark-skinned man - Max, stepped closer, eyes narrowed as he locked gazes with the kid. "The case," he repeated, gesturing down towards the object Peter was now trying to hide slightly. "What's in it?"

Tony watched on, eyes narrowed, hand poised on the car handle, waiting for the kid to begin floundering as he tried to sputter out a lie. Though he could only blink in shock as Peter merely shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing really interesting. Just a couple of spare parts and blueprints we received to work on later," he answered softly yet convincingly.

The billionaire felt his eyes narrow as he continued to stare at the scene before him. So _you_ can _lie._ Tony mused to himself. _Then why don't you do it more often?_ He wondered, recalling just how terrible the kid had been when lying to _him_. How the hell could he pull a flip like that? What was _with_ this kid?

The woman narrowed her eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "So...now what? Was this shit like a one-time thing or something, or are we supposed to expect Stark to keep showing up on our doorstep every other month?" she muttered, glaring down at the kid who was currently using the base of his palm to rub his wrist up and down.

"Actually..." Peter mumbled. "I-I don't...I don't really know. T-the details weren't t-too...specific exactly...s-so I...I don't really know when the next...um...next meeting is." He finally muttered out.

The leaner man rolled his eyes, leaning back against the step as he scoffed "Ugg...God, you're useless. You can't give us anything? They seriously didn't tell you shit?"

"They were pretty...p-pretty tight-lipped about...about everything, so...so I don't know."

"Of course you don't. What a fucking surprise."

The kid ignored their chuckles as he began to shift his weight back and forth between his feet. "Can we maybe...m-maybe go inside and talk? I don't-"

"Just spare parts, huh?"

The kid lifted his eyes up to meet Max's gaze as he leveled a hard look at the kid. "I...I'm sorry?"

The man glanced down at the case. "Just space parts?" he repeated. "That's it?"

Peter glanced down at the case for a second before giving a vigorous nod of his head.

"Kid says it's just fuckin' science shit, man," the striped-shirt guy muttered. "What about it?"

Max didn't seem inclined to let it drop so suddenly. "I'm just curious," he muttered as he stepped closer. Peter, in return, took two steps back, grip tightening around the handle. "Yeah, l-like I said. They're just parts and blueprints f-for a new project that we n-need to start working on."

"So, they give you a project to work on, but no specific time for you to return and show it off or report your progress?"

Peter glanced around, grip tightening. "Um..."

The man continued. "Also, it seems pretty sketch of Stark Industries to just let a bunch of strangers walk off with their design prints and tech, wouldn't you say?" He turned towards the others, who were giving him strange looks. He ignored them and turned back to Peter, face hardening. "Especially if they were as tight-lipped about information as you say they were."

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "I guess,"

"I know." The man didn't relent. Peter took another step back, only to find himself backed up against the pillar at the bottom of the steps. He pressed his back hard against it as Max leaned closer. "So I'll ask you again. What's in the case?"

Tony could actually hear his heart hammering against his chest, felt his hand tightening around the handle of the car.

Peter met Max's gaze for a fraction of a second before ducking around him, slipping past the others as he turned to quickly face them. "Yeah...y-yeah, sure. I just need to get the access code for the lock out of my backpack first so... Hey, actually, have you seen my...my dad anywhere c-cause I actually...have to talk to him about something. So, i-if you can just...just hold up for a sec-"

Before he could push the front door open, however, a large beefy hand was curling around his wrist, dragging him down the stairs as Max stepped between the boy and the road so Tony couldn't see exactly what was happening.

But he could see the look on Peter's face. And he could hear the words Max said next.

_"I didn't say you could fucking leave."_

Tony stared at the scene for a second longer before making his move.

He'd seen enough.

"Stay here," he muttered to Happy before slamming his door shut, the driver sputtering in shock at his actions.

The billionaire quickly straightened out his suit and realigned his sunglasses as he crossed the street and moved closer to the front of the townhouse.

One of the Cons must have noticed him, for them quickly tapped the dark-skinned man on the shoulder before turning towards him. Max glared down at a wide-eyed Peter for a moment longer before letting him go and whirling around. "Hey, kid," Tony called. "Just forgot. I wanted to talk to your dad about something real fast before we left." He explained, staring at Peter's shocked face.

The kid seemed frozen, baffled as to why the man was still there. "I...umm...I-I..." he stuttered. Apparently, his mouth was as frozen as his brain. However, that was not the case with the other adults.

"Well, well..." The woman chimed, a new smile adorning her face. "Tony Stark. Just what do we owe this little visit?" She asked, though her eyes gave away the annoyance her voice hide perfectly.

"Like I said, sweetheart. I just need to have a quick little chat with the kiddo's dad," he stated casually, reaching forward to wrap an arm around the kid's shoulder, effectively pulling him away from the others. He felt the boy tense up in his grip, but he didn't pull away and Tony didn't release his hold.

"If that isn't too much trouble."

The Cons exchanged glances before Max let out an irritated sigh. "Fine," he muttered darkly, motioning with his head for the others to step away from the door.

Peter blinked the shock out of his eyes as he cast a nervous glance at Tony before stepping forward, walking up the stairs, and wrapping a shaking hand around the door handle.

Taking a shaky breath, Peter pressed his thumb against the top of the handle, a click reverberating through the air as the locks slid apart before he pulled one of the twin doors open. The lights were already on as they walked inside.

Stepping through the short, narrow hallway, the walls opened up to reveal a spacious, designer living room, complete with twin sofas facing a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall over a brick-work fireplace. The flooring was a deep, mahogany that matched the mantlepiece and the bar counter off to the side, a wall of liquor and booze decorating an entire section of the room. Above their heads was an ornate-looking, modern chandelier that bathed the room in a warm, yellow glow.

To the left of the front door sat a kitchenette with a similar expensive appearance, though it looked like it had never really been used before. Further down as a hallway most likely housing a couple of bedrooms. And across from the front door, down the hall that separated the living room from the kitchen, sat a pristine, polished elevator.

Peter shuffled on his feet once more as he glanced over his shoulders as the Cons, who were currently displaying various looks of annoyance, disgust, or indifference.

"Um...w-where-"

"His office," Max muttered before folding his arms over his chest.

Peter said nothing, just gave a small nod of his head. Tony narrowed his eyes at the scene but said nothing as Peter began to make his way across the first floor and over to the stairs. Slightly relieved by the fact that they all wouldn't have to cram inside the slow-moving elevator, Tony followed the shuffling kid up the stairs before they reached the second floor.

This floor was similar to the first, except the dining room and kitchen were _much_ bigger, meaning this floor was probably used mostly for eating and cooking. Though as Tony looked around at the Cons, he severely doubted any of them were big bakers.

Upon arriving on the floor, they followed Peter down the hall, where he entered in upon another sizable room, though this one was much more ornately decorated.

The walls were still a deep, dark brown, only now they were covered in large bookshelves that stretched near to the ceiling, each filled with thick volumes of row upon row of books.

Counters situated against the walls held small statues, awards, sculptures, cigar boxes, anything and everything that could possibly scream _money._ On the back wall, above another fireplace similar to the last, sat a large painting surrounded by an expensive-looking frame, twin vases perched on either side of it.

Finally, in the center of the room sat a large executive's desk, matching the dark coloring of the wood paneling, a mess of papers scattered across the top. And sitting in the chair, going through said papers, was none other than Richard Parker. A pair of glasses sat perched on the tip of his nose, an irritated frown set firmly on his face as he glanced between folders.

The sound of their footsteps made Richard glare up from his papers, only for his eyebrows to raise in slight surprise at the sight that greeted him. There was no discernable expression on the man's face as he pushed his chair back and stood up, removing his glasses from his face before gently setting them down on the table.

"Peter..." He greeted coolly, the teen quickly lowering his gaze to the floor. He said nothing, not even as the woman stepped forward "Mr. Stark said he wanted to talk with you about something," she explained, her voice tight and strained.

Richard glanced at her then at Stark before a small smile set on his face. "I see you met my associates."

Tony turned a stare over at the Cons, who were currently watching the exchange with unreadable expressions. "Sort of...we haven't really had the chance to speak."

Parker gave a small nod. "Well, allow me to introduce you to them," he said as he moved over to the others.

"This is Flint Marko, head of security over at Parkstem Labs," he explained, placing a hand on the man with the striped shirt before moving over to the leaner figure standing next to him. "This here is Dr. Curt Conners, one of my top scientists and close friends." The man - Conners - fixed Tony with an unsettling grin. Now that they were closer, Tony realized that one of the hands sticking out of the man's shirt sleeve was plastic. A prosthetic.

"Over here, we have Ms. Alexandra Deel." He gestured towards the woman, who flashed Tony a dazzling smile that didn't match the look in her eyes at all. "Just call me Sandra"

"She's head of shipping and manufacturing," he explained before moving over towards the final man. "And this here is Mr. Maxwell Dillon, our financial adviser and my second in command"

Tony stepped forward and shook each and every one of their hands.

He'd definitely have to wash them later. _Really, really well._ With like a _lot_ of soap.

"Please to meet all of you." He flashed them a grin, one that didn't match the unsettling feeling he was beginning to feel in the pit of his stomach.

"Max," Richard called. "You think you can take Peter and the others downstairs while I talk to Mr. Stark?"

"Uh-huh." The man called, wrapping a hand around Peter's shoulder, the teen wincing at the touch. "Besides, we still got a whole lot of catching up to do, don't we, Peter?" He called, the others smirking at the teen's pained face.

Tony watched out of the corner of his eye as Peter was all but dragged back down the stairs with the others behind him. Realizing he had more pressing matter he needed to deal with, Tony wrapped his hand around one of the chairs placed in front of the desk and pulled it out, taking a seat as Richard sat as well, shuffling his papers as he did so.

"So...what did you want to talk about?"

The billionaire usually would have instantly jumped into conversation, all of his wants and demands sitting neatly in a corner of his mind as he'd spin an intricate web of conversation and charm, weaving them through the dialogue effortlessly and seamlessly until everything he'd planned and accounted for were already at his fingertips.

This time, however, something was different.

He had _no_ plan whatsoever. Getting out of the car had been on impulse alone, and now that those impulses were gone, he was left with...what exactly? A suspicion and no evidence? What was he supposed to do with that? What was his level of care here?

More silence. He hated it.

"So your associates..." he started, not really knowing where else to begin.

Richard leaned back in his chair, a smile working its way onto his face. "They're more like family, really. They've stuck around through all the hard times. really helped me out with Peter when he was little and I would get stuck at the office. You know how it is."

"Not really. Kids aren't really my thing."

"Of course. My mistake"

Tony chewed on his cheek, knee beginning to bounce as he glanced around the room, hoping the answer to why he felt so unnerved would be written on the walls somewhere. It wasn't.

Richard stared at him for a moment before furrowing his brow, folding his hands atop the desk. "is there...something you wished to discuss with me, Mr. Stark?"

_Was there?_

"No. Not really. I just wanted to see the kid off."

The man nodded. "Right. Well, speaking of such, I wanted to thank you for granting Peter this opportunity." The man let out a little chuckle as he pushed a few of the papers aside. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"Nah, kid was a delight."

_Why was he here?_

Richard hummed. "I'm glad to hear that. I know he's a bit shy around newcomers, so I was worried when you first approached. But hopefully, this whole experience was a positive one for him."

Tony drummed his fingers against his knee. "Yeah..."

Richard waited for a moment, presumably to see if Tony had anything more to say, which he surprisingly didn't. The awkwardness was near palpable as the man cleared his throat and picked up a few papers, shuffling them around a bit. 'Well..if there isn't anything else...thank you again for everything you've done for us, Mr. Stark," he said as he stood back up from his chair.

Tony, thankful that there was at least one person with their brain still intact in this conversation, followed his lead and stood up as well. They shook hands as Tony took a step back. He needed a drink.

Several drinks, actually.

"It was no trouble at all, Mr. Parker," he smiled, antsy to leave and put the whole mess behind him.

_And go where?_

He faltered at the thought for a second before giving a little shake of his head and stepping around the chair. Richard gestured towards the door. "Let me show you out."

Tony lifted a hand and waved him off. "Oh, it's alright. I'll find my way."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

He didn't wait for a response before he was pulling open the door to the office and taking a step out into the hallway. He breathed a deep sigh as he glanced around, running a hand down his face as he scoffed.

What a ridiculous stunt he'd just pulled.

He should have just had Happy pull off and drive away the second the kid was out of the car, as the plan had been.

He swallowed thickly before stuffing his hands into his pockets, glancing around at the Nancy set-up and cosy living arrangements. This was a family house. He didn't belong here, that much was obvious. Whatever was going on didn't involve him. This family was weird, sure. But as he'd said in the car, the kid himself was just as weird. Maybe that's what normal looked like around here. Who was he to judge?

He blinked back into reality and rolled his eyes, making for the stairs.

It was time to stop putting it off.

It was time to go back home.

_(Why? Not like anyone's waiting for you.)_

He pushed past the thought and kept walking...only to falter as he heard the sound of laughing from downstairs, loud and boisterous. Not a moment later, a figure was rushing up the stairs, head down and clothes ruffled.

Peter almost didn't even see him, he was too busy focusing on climbing the stairs. But when he finally did raise his face, their eyes met for just a moment.

The boy's cheek was red, chest heaving and shoulders shaking as he stared back at Tony. His eyes were glazed over with an emotion the man couldn't place, but the way his lip trembled ever so slightly didn't leave much up the imagination. Peter stared at him for another second before he was squeezing his eyes shut tightly, ducking his head as he used his shoulder to push past the man and race up the stairs to the third floor, disappearing from sight before Tony could so much as utter out a single word.

Tony gazed after him in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of a TV playing downstairs and the beating of his own heart, the same sound he'd heard in the car as he'd watched the kid get surrounded.

Something about this was...wrong. Something that was connected to the strange heaviness he'd felt the second he'd stepped foot in the house. Something that made his skin crawl whenever Richard so much as looked at him.

He turned his head to gaze down at the stairs that led to the first floor, the stairs that led him out. They were so close, so tantalizingly close. Just a few feet away from him, a few feet away from the car that was ready and waiting to drive him away, away towards the Tower, the big, huge...empty Tower.

_Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking._

_("If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.")_

He had a choice. He had a choice right now, and he knew what the right decision was. Just like he knew then.

_Keep walking. It's not your problem. Keep walking._

_("If I see a situation going south, I can't ignore it.")_

Tony wasn't like him, not even close. _He_ would come in guns blazing, rationale aside, reasoning aside, nothing but stubborn arrogance and stupidity-fueled violence. He would make things worse as he always did, as he loved to do. Tony wouldn't.

Steve would get involved. And Tony wasn't like him. He _wasn't._

_Just leave. Stairs are right there. Leave and don't come back...just like the others. Just like him._

Tony finally turned away from the stairs, lifted his head to gaze back to where Peter had disappeared to. His arm burned, he could feel it eating away at him.

_("This isn't gonna change what happened.")_

**. . .**

**. . .**

**. . .**

No...it wouldn't.

The office door closed behind him as Tony reentered the room. "I want Peter to come intern for me at Stark Industries."

But he did it anyway.

"What?" Richard looked up from his papers, seemingly surprised that Tony hadn't left as he said he would. He blinked his eyes quickly in shock before clearing his throat. "Um...could you repeat that?"

"I want to offer Peter a full internship at Stark Industries. No strings attached. No payments necessary. No sign-ups required," he explained before he could think better of it, before his brain could fully process what was coming out of his mouth. "Every other weekday after school, Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 3 pm to 8 pm. I'd have one of my drivers pick him up and drop him off so transportation wouldn't be a problem."

His heart was beginning to pound again. He could hear the blood in his ears, hear it pulsing against his skull. The pain in his arm was dulled by the sheer adrenaline now beginning to work its way through his system.

No going back now.

Richard stared Tony down for a moment, eyes hardening as he lowered his gaze, scanning the papers still scattered around the table. Reaching down, he gathered the paper together before neatly shuffling them into a pile. Tony watched the man work, neither saying anything. More silence. Tony swallowed his nerves.

Finally, after a moment, Richard stared back up at Tony, cold eyes burrowing into the man's gaze. "Tell me, Stark..." he said, eerily calm. "Just _what_ about my son has you so intrigued, huh?" He placed his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his face. "Why _him?"_ he murmured darkly.

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly at the shift in tone. Richard was now staring at the man with a suspicious glint in his eyes. The only explanation Tony could surmise for it was that the man suspected he was simply trying to unlock secrets about Parkstem Labs through Peter. After all, the Cons had been right before in saying that Parkstem _was_ a major competitor for him alongside Oscorp.

However, he couldn't care less about uncovering their secrets.

Tony leaned closer, matching Richard's hard stare. "I was keeping an eye on Peter throughout the convention. From the record I was able to pull on him as well as his application into the Foundation, he was an intriguing case," he explained. "As I observed him, I noticed he seemed to be much farther along in terms of intelligence compared to the other students at the meet. And I'm talking college undergrads. People that should be _years_ ahead of him looked like they were partaking in a second-grade science fair compared to him." He waved his hand through the air. "With this internship, he'd be allowed to shadow some of the scientists and professionals at the company as well as learn about the robotics and invention processes involved," he explained. "A process that you undoubtedly use every day in your own company."

Richard listened with narrowed eyes as Tony continued. "However, at the convention, I also noticed that Peter seemed to be very...anxious and nervous. He didn't talk much to anybody else. Seemed more content to stick to himself."

Parker gave a little nod, pursing his lips slightly. "As I said before, he's had some issues with that in the past." He twisted his chair around so that he was now facing the wall of books. His hands remained folded in his lap. "He concerns me sometimes, Stark. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with a little obedience, but he's just so..." he shook his head, eyes narrowing. "...weak. So small."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. The speckling pattern splashed across his cheek was well-hidden in the dim light of the office. "He worries me. As a father...he worries me." He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the shelf, realigning a few books that had shifted out of place. Tony watched him as he moved.

"The world's been changing, Mr. Stark. Changing in ways nobody could have predicted, ways nobody expected." Tony said nothing, just watched as the man turned to gaze back at him, eyes sharp and unsettling. "I fear...I fear he won't be able to handle it, at least not on the road he's currently taking."

The billionaire leaned forward in his seat. "I can help with that."

Richard narrowed his eyes and turned to fully face him. "Can you now?"

"I think so. Put him in an environment he can excel in. Give him the confidence he's been lacking. It could work."

"And you think you could provide that sort of environment?"

Tony took a breath, let it ous slowly. "At least let me try."

Richard watched him for a moment, seemed to scan him up and down. Tony resisted the strange, overwhelming urge to fidget under the man's gaze. Finally, when he spoke once more, his voice was low and dangerous, hinting an edge of aggression. "Stark. I won't tolerate games. Especially not with my boy. If you have an issue with my company, you bring it up with me, but you leave my son out of it. I won't have him become a pawn for you to use, you understand me?"

Tony didn't release the man's gaze. "Perfectly. But this isn't about our companies. This is about him. And I want to help him."

Richard didn't move. "Why?"

. . .

. . .

_("This isn't gonna change what happened.")_

"...because I can."

Richard gave a small nod of his head before lowering his gaze back down to the papers below, his brows furrowed in thought. Tony watched on, anticipation and a flutter of nervousness stirring in his gut. He could only hope this worked, hoped it didn't backfire and get the kid in some sort of trouble. Lord knew he didn't need that on his conscience.

But finally, after a moment, Richard's hard gaze seemed to soften slightly as he gave a small nod of his head. Lifting his gaze, he met Tony's eyes. "Stark, if you think this little... _program_ of yours can help my son, then so be it." He uttered softly, an almost _unsettling_ smile setting on his face.

Tony felt his stomach churn once again as he began to feel the same vibes he'd gotten from the Cons, but quickly pushed it down as the two men rose up from their seats and shook hands. Richard cast a small glance towards the door. "I should probably go and tell Peter," he muttered none too kindly.

Before his brain could catch up to his body, he was jumping in front of the man, holding his hands up with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'll go and tell him." He said, the words falling out before he could stop them.

 _You are just on a roll, aren't you?_ He grumbled to himself as Richard nodded his head, motioning towards the stairs. Tony bit back a sigh as he seriously began to consider getting a CAT scan when he got back to the Tower, trudging up the stair to the top penthouse floor.

Something about the floor seemed much different in the dark than it had when he'd first seen it. It felt much...colder. Quickly remembering which hall the kid's room was in, Tony counted the doors until he came to the last one.

He paused at Peter's door, biting the inside of his cheek in hesitation as he wondered whether he should just send Richard up instead. But after remembering the look on Peter's face as well as the annoyance in Richard's, Tony let out a small sigh and gently tapped his knuckle against the door.

After a few moments passed of silence in which Tony began to feel his old-self bubbling back up to the surface as his patience wore thin, the man called.

"Kid? You in here?"

Silence.

Furrowing his brow, the man glanced down at the door handle before giving a roll of his eyes. "How the hell did I end up here?" he muttered as he turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly. The hinges gave a soft creak as the door slowly swung open, the darkness of the room hitting Tony hard as his eyes fought to adjust to the lack of lighting.

The room was as he remembered it. The teen's bed right in front of the door, corners tight enough to pass military inspection, a bathroom right across from the head of it, a desk further back, and a bookshelf with row after row of thick science textbooks pressed against the back wall. But it wasn't what was _in_ the room that made Tony's face pinch in unease, it was what _wasn't_ in the room.

There was nothing adorning the walls, no decorations, posters, signs. There weren't any gaming consoles or clothes strewn about all over the place. It looked like nobody _lived_ in this room, it was so...empty.

How had he not noticed it before?

Tony blew out a breath and tried to push the thought from his head, eyes catching on the glass doors on the far end of the room, seemingly leading out to a balcony.

As his eyes adjusted, Tony made out a figure standing against the railing, seemingly unmoving as they stood leaning against the barrier, their back to him. But the mess of brown hair and the familiar oversized jacket were big enough clues.

It was impossible for him to see the boy's face, but the sunken, tired posture he stood with and the way he did nothing but stare out over the view told Tony all he needed to know. The billionaire let out a small breath and grasped the metal handle of the door, sliding it open.

Peter jolted violently at the noise, whipping around and pressing his back into the railing behind him as tried to locate the source of the noise, only to pause as he caught sight of who exactly was at his door.

"M-Mr. Stark?" He whispered softly, voice hiding none of his disbelief.

"Hey kid," Tony called casually as he stepped out onto the floor. The wind gently brushed past his face as he made his way over. Peter watched him with wide eyes for a moment, mouth agape as the man strolled up to stand next to him. Tony didn't look over at him, instead choosing to take in the view.

The townhouse rested on a large hill, elevating the view substantially till Tony could basically stare out above some of the surrounding buildings. From a distance, the bright lights of Town Square could be seen glowing brightly in the night sky, illuminating the waters of the East River in bright washes of red, yellow, and green. The moon hung in the sky above the buildings, shining brightly as it seemed to compete with the lights of the city. As usual, the sky held no stars. With all the bright lights and shining flashes, the chances of ever even noticing the faint pinpricks of white in the sky were slim to none.

He noticed Peter steadily watching him from the corner of his eye, the boy warily approaching to lean over the balcony as well. Tony could hear him shuffling back and forth on his feet, fingers tapping nervously against the railing.

He kept his gaze elevated to the sky. "Light pollution's a bitch, huh?"

The boy glanced away, seemingly unsure of something before letting out a little breath. He didn't turn to face Tony, but his eyes would occasionally dart over in his direction. "W-what?"

Tony rested one elbow against the railing, using his other arm to gesture up towards the sky. "No stars."

Peter followed his movements, looking up at the sky above their heads. He said nothing for a moment before a small smile worked its way onto his lips, faint and hesitant, but present. "I...I used to have these...stick-on glow in the dark stars on...on my ceiling. That...that was always good enough for me."

Tony hummed, but didn't say anything in response. He kept his gaze focused on the scenery, on the lights shining before his eyes.

"Um...M-Mr. Stark?"

"What's up?"

Peter glanced down at his hands, pulling at his long sleeves once more to cover his hands. Tony noticed he liked to do that a lot. "N-not that I-I'm...complaining or...or anything, but...b-but...umm...I-I don't ...I m-mean...wh-"

"Why am I here, exactly?" Tony asked, realizing the kid couldn't seem to choke out the last few words. Peter glanced up for a second before giving a nod of his head. Tony gazed back out at the view as he shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, you know, just chatting with your Dad about a few things here and there. Nothing too interesting."

"...Oh, and I also got you an actual internship at Stark Industries if that's of any interest."

Peter's eyes grew twice as wide as he whipped around. "You _what_?!" he nearly shouted before letting out a little scoff, blinking his eyes rapidly as his jaw dropped. "B-but...but I thought y-you said we...we were just g-gonna use that as a cover."

Tony shrugged once more. "Yeah, well, I changed my mind kid. You're gonna wanna get used to that, by the way. It's a pretty common occurrence."

Peter said nothing, just continued to flouder next to him, stuttering on words that refused to turn into anything more than garble. Tony let out a little chuckle at the display, throwing the kid a humored look. "take your time here. I do have that effect on people."

The teen lifted his gaze to stare at him at that, letting out a little breath as he switched his gaze towards the floor, rubbing a hand against his neck as he smiled. "I mean...this is...t-this is insane! It's...there's no other way to put it...I just...this is _amazing!"_

Tony smiled. It surprised him, and not because it was there...but because it was _real_ , if only slightly

The kid grinned, letting out a chuckle as he turned to glance back out over the balcony. However, after a moment, the boy's smile slipped, his gaze lowering to the ground in thought. He swallowed, brow furrowing slightly. "H-how did...m-my father take it?" He asked quietly, a different tone of voice entering the words.

Tony glanced over at him before waving his hand in the air dismissively. "Ah...he was a little hesitant at first, but I was able to convince him to go along with it." He explained, Peter blinking up at him in surprise. "Huh..." He murmured softly.

"What?"

"N-no, nothing. I-it's...it's just that...well, it's not the easiest th-thing in the world to convince my...my dad, you know?"

Tony pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he glanced over at Peter before turning away. "Yep...I kind of got that vibe from him." He muttered.

Before he could delve any farther into his suspicions of the boy's father, he whipped around and clapped his hands together. Peter didn't turn to look at him. "But, enough of that. Now, this internship will be every other day after school from three to eight. Now, judging from how long an average drive from the tower to here will take, that should leave you with about a two-hour window for patrolling and whatever other nonsense teenagers like you get up to in your free time."

The kid still hadn't responded. Maybe he was just soaking it all in.

Now we'll probably meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but if I decide I like having you around, I might just let you hang a little more." The man paused to twirl his hand in the air. "I'll just make something up about you having _'big projects to finish'_ or some bullshit like that. You'll probably have some stuff to help with and I already _know_ Pepper's gonna have some work lined up for you, but you'll probably have time to finish up your homework sprinkled in there as well. Plus, if you get on my good side, " He explained, pointing a finger towards the kid. "I might even help you out with improvements to your suit. I'm thinking we start with-"

"Did he put you up to this?"

Tony paused in his rambling at not just the sound of Peter's question, but the tone of voice he'd used. It sounded strange, teetering on the edge of suspicion.

"What?"

Peter narrowed his eyes and finally lifted his head to look at him. His gaze was hard and pointed. "My dad. Did he put you up to this? Are you two working together? Is that what this is?"

Tony blinked and scrunched up his face at the sudden hostility dripping from the kid's words. "What are you talking about? Of course he didn't."

The kid scoffed slightly and turned away. "What? I'm just supposed to believe you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Why...I don't..." Peter bit back whatever it was he was going to say as he shut his eyes, shoulders slumping slightly as he rested his elbows on the railing. "Look...it's not...it's not that I'm...ungrateful, alright? You helped me, g-gave me the new suit and I'm so...thankful for all of it."

He trailed off. Tony furrowed his brow and took a small step closer. This kid was so unpredictable it was making his head spin.

"I...I just don't understand why you're...why you're offering this to me if you're not working with my dad. I mean...y-you said we would just use the internship as...as a cover. That it wasn't real, so...so what made you change your mind?" The boy stared up at him, wide brown eyes gleaming in the light from the city beyond. "Why are you doing this? I...I don't understand."

. . .

_Neither do I._

Tony opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. He sucked in a breath, closing his mouth again as he cast his eyes away, furrowing his brows as he fought over how to handle this. But it was difficult when not even _he_ knew his real motivations behind his decision. Impulse. Impulse alone was the answer here. So what would happen when the adrenaline finally decided to leave his body?

Where would they end up then?

The man decided on staring out over the water in a similar manner to Peter, who had gone back to leaning against the railing when Tony had remained silent. Neither of them really turned to face one another, not even as Tony began to speak.

"You know...your dad reminds me a lot of mine. He was never really good at the whole ' _supporting your kids'_ thing. He never really knew how to... _handle_ me." He didn't know what he was saying at this point. Just anything to fill the silence.

"I never really felt like I could talk to him, you know? I just thought that whatever I did wasn't good enough for him. That every word that came out of my mouth was another reminder to him that I wasn't what he wanted. Granted I didn't really help my case by going to a _ton_ of college parties, getting _wasted_ a bunch of times, and partying with whatever girl crossed my path but-"

He glanced down at Peter, the boy blinking up at him with those wide eyes of him.

"I don't know where I'm going with this. I think I had a point."

"If you did, then...I don't get it."

The man sighed, running a hand over his face. "I am _so_ not cut out for this," he muttered to himself before he turned around, leaning his back up against the railing of the balcony, folding his arms over his chest. Peter followed him with his eyes.

"Listen, kid. It's true that this is... _unorthodox_ for me to be offering this. And it's also true that there are _plenty_ of other people I could offer this to." He started, watching as the kid lowered his gaze back down to the ground. "But, I chose you for a reason, Pete." He explained, the nickname popping out before he could even think about it. "I think you got a lot of potential kid. Hell, it's obvious just by the way you were able to make those web-shooters just by scraps you found in the frikkin dumpster," he scoffed, a small smile forming on his face.

"And hey, I get it that you're a bit unsure of this. Hell, I'm a little unsure myself..." He paused and unfolded his arms, slipping his hands into his pockets as he leaned back against the railing.

"But I need you to understand this, kid. You _do_ deserve all of this. I don't know about you, but I haven't come across any other kids swinging around the city with basically no proper equipment whatsoever helping people just to help them, just because they _can."_ He explained, Peter glancing away as a slight red tint began to fade onto his face.

"You're a good kid, Peter," Tony said softly. "That's why I'm offering this internship to you. Plus, you know, Spider-Man kind of, _is_ my responsibility considering I just armed him with a multi-billion dollar suit, you know? Would be kinda reckless to just let you go off all willy-nilly without any sort of supervision."

Peter slowly lifted up his gaze, blinking up at the man once more as Tony pulled away. "So what do you say, kid?" He asked, a smug smile forming on his face. "You wanna join me over on the dark side, or would you rather stay here and work at _boring_ , old Parkstem Labs?"

Peter let out a small laugh. "They're not that bad, you know," he murmured softly, a smile forming on his face.

Tony turned a serious look towards him. "Alright, if you're gonna be working for me, you're no longer able to give any sorts of praise, adoration, or compliments to that place, got it? Nothing except seething remarks or hate letters, alright?" He said, Peter letting out a full-blown laugh at that, the man chuckling next to him as they walked back through the glass doors and into the teen's dark room. He liked the kid's laugh. It sounded right.

Walking back out towards the common rooms, Tony noticed Peter's demeanor instantly shift back to quiet and reserved as they made their way down the stairs and back down to the first floor, where the others were congregating. "Well, it's a done deal," Tony called, the others glancing up at the pair as they made their way down the stairs.

Richard gave a small nod of his head as the pair reached them, the Cons letting out small huffs behind him. "Very well. And you said transportation would not be an issue?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I'll have a driver pick him up and drop him off," he explained as the large group began to make their way over to the door.

"Then I see no problems. As long as this doesn't interfere with his schoolwork," Richard murmured, stealing a glance down at Peter, who was now standing at his side, his fingers twitching nervously.

"I doubt that'll be much of an issue," Tony smirked as he began to make his way outside.

"Well, it was a... _pleasure_ meeting all of you." The man called as he gazed at the Cons, who seemed to be trying not to roll their eyes.

However, before Tony could begin his descent down the stairs, he heard someone call out his name. Turning back, he watched as Peter quickly stepped outside as well, rushing up to meet the man. "Hang on a second..." He called as he stared up at the man, large brown eyes once again staring up at the man, but this time, there was something different about them. They didn't seem as desperate, as searching. Instead, they seemed almost...bright.

"Before you leave, I just wanted to say thank you," Peter said softly. "For everything."

Tony stared back at those large brown eyes, seemingly lost in them for a moment as they stared at him in awe before he blinked back into reality, a smile forming on his face. "No problem, kid. See you tomorrow," He said with a wink as he began to make his way down the stairs, the smile lingering on his face as he turned back around and noticed Peter giving him a little wave.

This time, he couldn't resist the urge to return it.

Tony reached the car and silently stepped inside. "Well, you took your sweet time, didn't you?" Happy muttered as he cast a small glare behind him. "You know I'm only doing this as a favor, right? I'm not your driver anymore. I have a very serious job now-"

Tony knew Happy was talking, but as usual, he wasn't really listening. Instead, his eyes were trained on the kid currently standing on the front step of his house, gazing at the car with wide eyes before a large hand was placed on his shoulder, jerking him back to attention. Peter glanced up nervously at his father and the awaiting Cons, casting one last glance at the car before ducking back into the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

Tony furrowed his brow before leaning back in his seat, a tired sigh tearing its way through his lips. Only now did he realize how exhausted he actually was. Though he shouldn't have been surprised. It hadn't exactly been an easy weekend for him.

After a moment, he realized the car was moving. Happy must have realized the man wasn't listening and had decided to just drive back to the Tower. Tony let out a small moan and rested his head back.

"You good?" Happy called from the front, his earlier agitation dissipating as he took in how bedraggled his friend looked.

"Yep. Yep, I am... _stellar."_ Tony muttered softly as he shut his eyes. The man desperately wished that were true. He wished he really was _alright_ and that it had just been another long weekend (partying with his friends, staying up watching movies with them, arguing about trivial things). He wished everything was fine and that he could look forward to coming back home and relaxing. He wished...

He wished for a lot of things that just weren't going to come true anytime soon.

Tony winced as he shifted in his seat, his arm letting out a small shout of protest at the movement. He wrapped a hand around his wrist, flexing and unflexing his fingers as he felt his arm groaning in protest. At least with the kid distracting him, his mind has been elsewhere. But now that he was alone, there wasn't much for him to think about other than-

No, Nope! He was _not_ going there. Tony knew if he even began to _think_ about St- _about..._ what happened, he would lose it. And he _did not_ want to have a breakdown in the car. _Just breath..._ Tony muttered to himself as he shut his eyes once more, concentrating instead on taking deep breaths and slowly letting them out. He repeated the mantra in his head throughout the car ride, shutting out every and all outside noise.

This time, he embraced the suffocating air the silence brought.

He never saw the way Happy glanced at him through the rearview window, concern evident in his usually cold eyes.

* * *

**Sunday - March 6, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Lower Level Sub-Garage**

**10:54 p.m.**

"Tony?"

The man's eyes snapped open as his name was called. He let out a small groan as he sat up, rubbing his sore neck as he glanced over at Happy, the man staring at him from the front seat. After a moment, Tony realized they were in the Tower's garage. How long had they been there?

"You _sure_ you're alright?" The man asked.

Tony slipped a smile onto his face. "Careful, Happy. Keep acting like that, and I might actually suspect that you're _worried_ about little ol' me." He said, batting his eyelashes at the man. Happy rolled his eyes and turned back around in his seat. "Yeah, I know. I _must_ be insane." He muttered, but he couldn't help the nervous frown that fell onto his face as Tony exited the car. Though he knew it was pointless to ask the man again if he was alright. he would just do what he always did: deflect.

Tony was silent as he entered the Tower elevator, automatically telling FRIDAY to take him to the labs. He didn't even know he'd said anything until he felt the elevator moving underneath his feet.

The man let out a tired groan as he rubbed his face, his head pounding painfully.

"Sir, might I suggest you instead go and get some rest instead of working in the labs tonight?" The automated voice called from above. Well at least, _one_ thing was still the same.

"I'm fine, FRIDAY," Tony called as the elevator doors opened. "And _no,_ I don't want to hear your list of reasons as to why I am _not_ fine." He said quickly after a second thought, the voice falling silent as he entered the lab.

The once comforting sight of the messy lab now made Tony's stomach churn uneasily as he stepped inside. A multitude of different projects sat on the tables, the robots in the corner chiming to life as he entered. He watched as Dum-E accidentally scattered a few papers across the floor, but he honestly didn't have the energy to scold the machine.

Tony walked through the seemingly endless corridor of tables, eyes glancing over the many different machines and parts strewn about the smooth surfaces. To be honest, he didn't know what he was really looking for, if anything at all. He didn't even know what he was doing down here. But he knew it was better than being up in the penthouse. He didn't know if he could take how quiet it was now.

As he walked, his eyes caught sight of something that made his legs stop.

Sitting on one of the large tables sat his Iron Man suit. The one he'd taken to Siberia. It was almost _worse_ than he remembered it. The numerous gashes and slash marks coating the armor had almost stripped away all the paint. Loose circuits and bare wires could be seen and a large gash had been made in the very center of the suit. Memories of how such injuries had been sustained flashed across Tony's eyes, making the man wince and sharply turn his head.

Oh, how he wished he hadn't.

As he moved his head away, he caught sight of something that made him want to hurl. There, sitting propped up on the floor next to the table sat Cap's shield. Like his suit, much of the paint had been stripped away and there were numerous slash marks marring the surface.

Tony couldn't help but stare at the shield, eyes boring into the signature pattern, the colors blurring together slightly. He could hear his heart beating frantically against his chest, but he just couldn't _feel_ it. His chest heaved as he sucked in a few shaky breaths. Glancing down, he noticed his hands were shaking violently, as was the rest of his body.

As he continued to stare at the shield, he felt his feet moving until his back eventually hit the wall. Suddenly, he was back in Siberia. His suit was blaring loudly in his ears, different alarms and sirens going off as he felt a hand digging into his chest, curling around the reactor. He could feel fists pounding against the metal surrounding him, sharp jabs from the shield hitting his side, his chest, his face. The sound of his blasters charging up, the taste of copper in his mouth, the feeling of sweat rolling down his temple.

He felt himself slide down the wall, his bottom hitting the floor hard as his breathing became frantic and uneven. His hand rose up to his chest, rubbing the spot where his reactor had once been.

Tony stared at the shield for a moment longer before he tore his gaze away, head pounding so loudly he felt it would soon splinter.

The man let out another shaky breath, feeling it hitch in the back of his throat. His brain throbbed as he rested his head on the back of the wall, shutting his eyes tightly as he fought against what he knew was coming.

His throat was dry.

They were gone. It was plain and simple. He just couldn't ignore it anymore. They were gone. All of them. He'd tried so hard to keep them all together, to do the right thing and...it'd all fallen apart.

His eyes itched.

He should have seen it coming. Things had been going too well for it not to fall to shit. He just should have _seen it coming._ But he hadn't. He hadn't...and now he was alone. All of them, people he'd finally begun to consider as friends, as...as _family,_ they were all gone. They'd all left. They'd all left _him._

His nose burned.

He'd tried. This time he'd really _tried._ He had done all that he could, but in the end, he was only human. He could only do so much. Why couldn't anyone understand that? Why couldn't anyone _ever_ understand that?

Suddenly, he felt tears sliding down his cheeks, splattering down against his pants, against the cold floor. But he didn't care. Not after all of it. He just _couldn't_ care about it. He had no strength left to do so. So he just sat there, leaning against the back wall, legs splayed out before him, arms curled around himself as Tony Stark, world genius, multi-billionaire, famous hero...

...cried. He simply sat there and cried over everything, over the _second_ family he'd lost, the second family he'd driven away.

But what else could you expect from Tony Stark, the man with everything...and nothing.


	3. Governing Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He should be getting here after school."
> 
> "Uh-huh . . . and are you expecting the kid to walk all the way here, or are you sending a driver?" She asked, stopping in the doorway.
> 
> Tony's face grew thoughtful for a moment before a mischievous grin broke. He reached down onto his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before bringing it to his ear. After a second, the other line answered.
> 
> "Hey, Happy?"
> 
> "Yeah?"
> 
> "You're not doing anything right now, are you?"
> 
> "Uhh..."

_"Well? Did you find a good recipe?"_

_Peter felt a smile split his face as he looked up, loose teeth beaming as the toddler held out the cookbook, pressing his finger against one of the laminated pages. "Dis one!" He babbled out cheekily._

_Mary felt a laugh bubble out of her chest as she reached down, plucking the almost three-year-old out of his chair and holding him against her side. She gently wrapped her hands around the book and examined the page. "This is roast turkey pot pie, sweetheart."_

_"Yeah!"_

_"We don't even_ have _turkey!"_

_"Yeah!"_

_Mary let out another laugh as she lowered her head, rubbing her nose against the boy's, Peter letting out a giggle as he pressed his tiny hands against the side of his mother's face, a large grin splitting his face._

_The woman set the toddler back down onto the ground and turned back to the pantry. "Alright, let's see if we can actually find something suitable to eat, huh?" She smirked, her smile faltering as she gazed at the poorly stocked closet. A small sigh escaped her lips as she glanced at the dented cans and numerous boxes of colorful cereal._

_Peter glanced up at the woman and noticed her smile wasn't there anymore. He didn't like that. He liked happy Mommy. Happy Mommy made him smile._

_The three-year-old gazed into the pantry. There was_ something _in here that was making Mommy sad. As he scanned the small closet, his eyes fell upon the cereal boxes resting on the floor, where he could easily reach them. On the covers, there were many different mascots, each smiling happily as they stared back at the toddler._

_Peter giggled. His cereal friends would make Mommy happy. He pushed past his mother's legs and grasped one of the boxes, holding it out to her. "Bweakfast soup!" He cheered, pushing the box up against his mother's knees._

_Mary gazed down at the boy in surprise before a humored look appeared on her face. No matter how many times she tried to explain it, the boy just never seemed to be able to grasp the concept of_ "cereal" _. To him, it would always be "breakfast soup". She guessed in a sense he wasn't too far off. It kind of_ was _like soup..._

_"Breakfast for dinner, huh?" She asked aloud, taking the box from her son's hands._

_Peter jumped up. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"_

_Mary laughed, leaning down to blow a raspberry on Peter's cheek, the boy giggling maniacally as she did so before pushing away, ready to help his mommy._

_"Alright, why don't you go and get me the eggs from the refrigerator?"_

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**E Eighth Avenue Local line - en route to Midtown**

**06:35 a.m.**

Peter awoke, not with a gasp, but with a moan as his eyes slid open. The last whispers of his dream tickled his ears as they drifted away, dripping past his eyes as the warm kitchen was replaced with the cold neon lights of the packed subway car. The smell of stale coffee and cheap perfume wafted around the crowded space, making Peter's eyes nearly water at the pungent, overwhelming smell. Someone shifted closer to him. He scrunched up tighter in his seat, leaning closer to the wall.

He turned his head away from the crowd and pressed his forehead up against the cool glass window, the heat radiating from his body making the surface fog up ever so slightly as sweat trickled down his temple. An unsettling prickling sensation tingled down his arms, like an electrical current coursing through his veins, a familiar feeling that arose whenever he dreamed of _her._

Peter didn't like to dream about her.

He licked his dry lips and let out a soft groan as he felt a headache bubbling in the back of his mind, something he just _knew_ was going to bother him for the rest of the day. _Great._

A low rumbling met his ears as a familiar twinge of pain shot through his stomach. The boy winced and wrapped an arm around his torso as his body protested.

Peter liked to consider himself fairly strong-willed when it came to staving off his hunger pangs. He had accepted the feeling of never having a full stomach, used to the constant aching thrums that were always present, no matter how much he ate. It was never enough.

Still, he never passed up the opportunity to at least _try_ to fill himself up as best he could. And realizing he probably couldn't wait until school like he'd planned, Peter reached down to his backpack sitting between his legs, zipping it open to reveal the apple he'd stashed away.

It wasn't anything spectacular. A browning fruit with a dark red skin and a small bite taken out of the side. Sandra had thrown it away this morning, apparently realizing she "wasn't in the mood for apples" after she'd already taken a bite.

Peter hadn't hesitated in fishing it out of the trash can when nobody was looking.

Ignoring the poor state the fruit was in, he took a small bite out of the side. The growling of his stomach urged him to inhale the thing as fast as possible, but he knew he had to make this thing last, considering it was the most food he'd probably get until dinner, unless of course Ned packed him an extra sandwich, which he usually did despite Peter's protests.

The teen was quickly jolted from his thoughts as he felt the subways pulling into the station. Rising up from his seat, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and crumpled up the paper bag, tossing it into the trashcan next to him.

Reaching behind him, he grasped his hoodie and pulled it up over his head, effectively shielding his face. Just how he liked it. He glanced down and grimaced slightly at the dark marks running up and down his arms. They were still fresh. He quickly tugged at the bottom of his sleeves and pulled them down to cover his wrists. Muscles tensing as he slid and bumped past people with the occasional squeak of apology, Peter stepped off the car and began to quickly walk through the crowded station.

The many people pushing and shoving past each other made the boy's fingers twitch nervously as he instinctively raised up his hand, rubbing his wrist comfortingly as he tried to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Luckily for him, his small stature allowed for him to basically slip through the sea of masses unnoticed.

It was only a short walk from the station to the school, but long enough to allow the teen some time to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.

Midtown School of Science and Technology.

Peter's safe haven.

it wasn't _glamorous_ to say the least. The halls were crowded and noisy, the work was tedious and the occasional taunt from Flash was always something he could look forward too. But at least it was something...somewhere to go that wasn't home, and that was enough of a reason for him to love it.

At school, the people around him were strangers, uncomfortable presences, but they weren't _threats_. He wasn't in a constant state of panic and fear, looking over his shoulder or straining his ears to listen for the sound of footsteps coming down the hall towards his room.

At Midtown, Peter was uncomfortable, sure. But he wasn't _afraid._

Slowly trudging up the steps, he wrapped his hand around the handle and yanked the door open. Around him, kids milled around like ants running through a colony.

There were people loitering by the bathrooms, kids huddled on the floor surrounded by piles and piles of unfinished homework, girls standing around tapping away on their phones, boys sitting against the lockers leaning side to side as they tried to beat the final stage in their games, couples pressed into the corners as they kissed, seemingly oblivious to the mess of students around them.

Yep, typical morning.

It wasn't hard to spot Ned. As usual, he was sitting down on the floor next to Peter's locker, finger swiping against the cracked screen of his phone as his dark hair hung down over his eyes.

Peter felt a genuine smile form on his face as he approached, Ned perking as he caught sight of him. The chubby boy grinned and stumbled to his feet, shoving his phone in his pocket as he stretched out a hand, Peter doing the same as they commenced in their traditional handshake.

"How'd your weekend go?"

_Terrible_. I had to go to Kayla's soccer game. I don't know who created a ten and under division for little girl's soccer, but they must have been mental cause it literally made me want to rip my eyes out just to _feel_ something."

Peter cracked a grin at Ned's usual exaggerated manner of speaking. He tried to ignore the way his friend's eyes traced over him, lingering on his covered arms. Ned knew what that meant. The boy didn't comment, though. Instead, Peter leaned in a little closer. He'd been itching to tell Ned his latest development for the past three days. After all, Ned knew _everything_ there was to know about him.

Ned reached towards his backpack and pulled out his water bottle. "So what about you? Anything interesting?" He popped the cap and took a swig as Peter grinned.

"I'll say. On Friday, when I got home, _Tony Stark_ was at my house."

The boy's eyes grew wide and he doubled over as he gagged, coughing up water as it leaked down his nose. Peter blinked down at him with large eyes before glancing around with a sheepish smile at the onlookers currently giving them strange glances. He turned back towards Ned and reached out a tentative hand, only for the other boy to lurch forward and nearly come nose to nose with him. " _Peter Parker,_ I know you didn't just say what I think you just said."

"I-"

"Tell me you didn't say what I think you just said!"

"Well, I-"

"Speak these words and confirm to me that-!"

" _Ned!_ " Peter grabbed onto the teen's jacket, pulling him closer. "Stop talking and let me explain," he laughed, watching the boy continue to stare at him as if he'd just started glowing bright pink.

" _W-well..._ what's he want, man?!"

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as he felt the words get lodged in his throat for a fraction of a second. So maybe there was one tiny little thing that he'd forgotten to mention to his best friend.

"He, uh...h-he came by to offer me an internship at Stark Industries...?"

Ned didn't know about Spider-Man.

For a second, Ned said nothing, just continued to stare at him with eyes larger than dinner plates and for a moment, Peter was afraid the boy was about to call him out on his lie. But before the fear could truly manifest, Ned was pawing at his arms, leading Peter to shy away and try his best to defend himself from the onslaught of excited jabs.

_"You got an internship at Stark Industries?!"_ Ned screeched, slapping Peter's shoulder with each shouted word.

Peter couldn't keep the smile off his face as he tried to block his friend's pawing. "Would you calm down? And maybe try shouting a little louder. I don't think the football team heard you."

"Oh, they definitely did. And probably the cheerleaders too."

Both boys turned away from their current impromptu battle as the newcomer sauntered up.

She had dark caramel skin and thick curly brown hair tied up into a messy ponytail that left numerous curled strands dangling before her sharp amber eyes. "So does this explain why you weren't at the Decathlon meet on Saturday?" She quirked a brow and threw him a pointed look.

Ned threw him a sidelong smirk, to which Peter elbowed him in the shoulder and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Y-yeah, sorry about that, MJ. I...I meant to text you guys, but we were...k-kinda busy. Plus this was sorta out of the blue, you know?"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Whatever, nerd. It's fine. Though I assume this won't get in the way of any more of our meets?"

The boy held out his hands in assurance. "No, no, no! Don't worry about that. The internship's only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so Tuesday and Thursday are still free for practice." He explained hurriedly.

MJ regarded him for a moment before deciding his answer was satisfactory, giving a small nod of her head.

Letting out a small internal sigh of relief, Peter watched as Michelle bopped her lunchbox against the side of Ned's head and moved her hand in a _"shoo"_ motion, the other boy hurriedly stepping out of the way of her locker, which was right next to Peter's. Hence how the two of them had met.

It had only been around eight months since the two of them had met Michelle, right around the start of the year. And while they weren't as close as Peter and Ned were - going off of a four year friendship - the three of them seemed to find themselves in each others' company more times than not, especially considering Michelle's role as head of the Decathlon team.

Now, apart from Ned, MJ was one of the only people Peter talked to at school, one of his only friends...at least he _thought_ they were friends. It was hard to really get a read on the girl.

Got to say, I'm mildly surprised you're interning with Stark Industries and not with your dad's company." She pointed out, giving the boy a questioning look as she pulled out her Biology textbook and shoved it into her backpack.

Ned threw Peter another sidelong glance at the mention of his father, the boy pointedly ignoring the look as he gave a stiff shrug. "I thought it was a little weird, too. But...I'm not complaining."

Michelle held his gaze for a moment before turning back to her books, seeming to drop the subject, much to Peter's relief.

Seriously? Penis Parker got an internship with _Tony Stark?_ Yeah, and I'm Spider-Man."

All three friends had to swallow down their simultaneous sighs as they turned around, meeting the smug expression of one Flash Thompson. The boy threw them a cocky grin as he rolled his eyes. Ned frowned as he glared at the approaching boy. "What do you want, Flash?" He muttered.

The boy smirked back at them. "Nothing. I'm just showing an interest in our fellow classmate's endeavors. So...you're buddy-buddy with Tony Stark, huh?" He asked, elbowing Peter in the ribs. "That's surprising considering you barely ever open your mouth, let alone around someone like Stark."

Peter took a step back and leveled the boy a glare. "What do you care?" He mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Flash shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just shocked is all. I never knew you were so desperate for attention that you'd make up such a specific lie," he chided. "That's usually how ya' get caught, you know. Everybody knows the key is to keep it simple."

Peter rolled his eyes and tried to step around the boy only for Flash to jump back into his path. Ned narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. "Leave him alone, would you, Flash. It's none of your business."

Flash let out a laugh as he caught sight of the annoyed glared he was getting. "Oh come on! You can't actually believe that Parker got an internship at Stark Industries!"

"It's more believable than _you_ getting one." MJ muttered as she slammed her locker closed. Ned tried to stifle a laugh while Peter retained his tight-lipped stiff stance. Flash let out an indignant scoff before narrowing his eyes and violently shoving past Peter as he stalked away.

The teen let out a little sigh and threw Michelle a look. "Thanks. I'll be paying for that later."

"Bill me." Without another word, the girl threw her bag over her shoulder and made her way down the hall, the two boys sharing a look before quickly running after her.

As they shoved past kids trying to make their way to their classes, Peter found his mind wandering. Usually, he dreaded the end of the day, loathed the days of the week when Decathlon wasn't scheduled, knew there was nothing stalling him from getting home.

There, it was nothing but hours upon hours of diligently doing as he was told and trying his best to stay out of the line of fire. Sometimes he was successful. Sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he couldn't help but stare down the clocks, praying the minutes would tick by faster until he could finally find solace in his mask and web-shooters.

But today, for the first time in a long time, was different. Today he didn't have to wonder about which path to the train station would take the longest. He didn't have to stress about whether or not they had enough alcohol at home to satiate the Cons and keep them safely incapacitated.

Today he didn't have to worry about any of that.

Today was going to be _very_ different.

And for once, Peter wasn't upset by the change.

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Lab 1**

**11:23 a.m.**

Tony was _very_ upset by this change.

So upset, in fact, that he was seriously considering going into the kitchen and downing every last bottle of alcohol they had, and that was a _lot._ That'd be enough to kill him, right?

...No, he wasn't lucky enough for that.

The man was currently working down in his lab, head pressing against the cool metal surface of his work table as he contemplated whether or not he could take the feelings of regret and despair currently pooling in his gut and physicalize it. It _had_ to be strong enough to power a city block if he could just find a way to convert it into energy. Hell, he could probably power ten city blocks if he found a way to do that. He'd become like a goddamn _battery!_

Tony could argue that there were _many_ reasons for why he was contemplating certain death, but if he was really being honest, he knew there was one reason that really stood out like a sore thumb among all the others...

Peter Parker.

Tony let out a muffled groan at just thinking of the kid's name. Now that he'd had time to adjust and rethink his actions from the day before, he was really beginning to appreciate just how _fucked_ he truly was. It was almost poetic. Like a goddamn Shakespearean tragedy. Granted, it was unlikely that they'd all end up dead in the end but...actually, knowing him, that wasn't too far off from the most likely outcome.

Hmmm... maybe they'd write a book about this.

The main thing that was making the billionaire's stomach play hopscotch with his intestines was the fact that Peter was coming to the Tower today. Peter was coming to the _fucking_ tower...TODAY! He'd be alone with the fourteen-year-old for three frikkin hours! No, he'd have to figure out how to not accidentally _kill_ the kid for three frikkin hours. They were fragile, weren't they? Kids? But did that apply to super-powered kids? Peter seemed sturdy enough, right? 

All the doubts and fears from before he'd agreed to intern the kid were beginning to bubble in his stomach once again, and they made him want to tear his hair out. He had _no_ idea how to handle a kid - NO! How to handle a _teenager,_ which were basically just kids switched onto _Hard Mode._

Alright, safe to say Tony Stark didn't really have much experience when it came to kids, but that's what they were like... _right?_ It was certainly what _he_ had been like.

"Yes, well we're not _all_ like Tony Stark, are we? Thank god, for that actually. I don't think I'd be able to survive."

Tony visibly jumped at the new voice, turning towards the lab entrance to see Pepper walking in, a smirk adorning her face.

_Shit. Did I say all of that out loud?_

_Welp . . . ._

"What are you doing worrying about kids all of a sudden?" The woman asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man as she stopped in front of him. Her smile instantly shifted into a shocked frown as she leveled the man a hard stare. "Who called you?" She muttered.

Tony gave her a confused look before his brain caught up to what she was implying, lifting his hands in surrender. "Nobody called me, Pepper. God, you kidding?" He huffed, the woman shrugging her shoulders. "Well with your history, it's not too far-fetched." She muttered.

Tony threw her an empty glare as he let out a sigh, rising up from his chair before running a hand down his face. "Nope, but I've done something that's equally as stupid." He moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Pepper threw him a look as her eyes narrowed, fists settling on her hips in her usual _'My job is basically taking care of a giant man-baby billionaire'_ stance.

"What did you do?" She asked not unlike a mother scolding her child.

The billionaire glanced at her before resting on the edge of the table, closing his eyes as he let out a breath. "Itookanintern." He mumbled out.

"You did a what now?"

"...I took an intern."

Pepper blinked at him in surprise before her eyebrows furrowed. "You took an intern?" She echoed, shaking her head slightly as she stepped closer. "But I... I thought you agreed not to _take_ any interns. If I remember correctly, you said if you wanted a bumbling idiot following at your heels, you'd just walk into Oscorp and-"

"I know what I said, Pepper!" He growled out much harsher than he'd expected. He sucked in a breath as he tried to reign in the small flicker of anger that had surfaced as he rubbed at his chest. "I...I _know_ what I said. But..." he paused, fighting himself on just _how much_ he should tell the woman. After all, he wasn't too sure how she'd react in finding out just how young the hero he'd enlisted to fight Captain _frikkin_ America was...well, _is._

Pepper seemed to notice Tony's reluctance as she moved closer. The past couple of weeks had been . . . _rough_ to say the least. After all, the couple couldn't really call themselves a _couple_ anymore. The fact still pained the woman, but she knew it was for the best. She just couldn't take watching the man she loved work himself to the ground and experience near-death situations on a daily basis.

There was only so much she could handle.

Still, that didn't mean she didn't care for the man. He was still one of her best friends. She still _loved_ the man with all her heart, and she knew he was heading into some troubled times ahead. Heck, just the sight of him after he'd returned from Siberia had made her nearly break down into tears.

So yeah, watching the man struggle to find words as he stood before her rang some alarms. But, as usual, she knew she had to play this smart. She wasn't too worried though. She was fluent in the language of Tony Stark.

She placed a hand on the man's shoulder, Tony's gaze rising to meet hers. "What's going on?" She asked softly.

Tony stared back at her for a moment before he let out a reluctant sigh. "Look, I know this is pretty unusual, and it _definitely_ isn't something I'd _ever, ever_ agree to..."

"But...?"

The billionaire rubbed his sore neck. " _But_...there's something . . . . _strange_ about this kid.

Pepper raised a brow. "Good strange or...?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know. He asked me the same thing and I still don't know. Some of it's good...Some of it's...some of it's _really_ good, Pep." He chuckled slightly. "I mean, I haven't spent much time with the kid, but from what little I _have_ seen, it's...it's really good. _He's_ really good."

Pepper regarded the man and his words for a moment before giving a small nod. "Alright...how about' the other part?"

Tony glanced back up at her before lowering his gaze once again, shaking his head slowly. "Umm . . . you know that feeling you get when you just _know_ something is really, really wrong, but you just can't really explain it?"

The woman hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod. "Yeah, I think I can say I've felt something like that." She muttered. After all, ever since the whole _'I am Iron Man'_ incident, she'd been feeling that exact feeling for who knew how long. "But what does that have to do with this?" She asked.

Tony let out another sigh. "I don't know, Pep. There's a small part of me that's wondering if maybe I'm just overreacting..." He murmured before stopping. Just how much of this should he really share? Something told him the kid wasn't too keen on other people knowing about his predicament. Tony stole a glance up at Pepper, the woman looking at him expectantly. He knew he could trust Pepper. But still, this was...a _touchy_ subject.

The man thrummed his fingers against the cold metal table below him. He'd just have to play it by ear. "Look, this kid is... _troubled._ I...I just want to help him, Pepper." He finally settled on, wincing at how the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He knew the woman would have questions from that.

Well, Pepper _definitely_ had questions from that.

However, simply from the look Tony was currently giving the floor, she knew the man was extremely hesitant to elaborate, for whatever reason. For the time being, she could only assume that was all she was getting from him.

"Alright...well, that doesn't seem _too_ bad, Tony." She finally said. "So what the heck are you freaking out about?"

Tony instantly shifted his demeanor, pushing off of the table as he began to pace back and forth around the lab. " _Everything,_ Pepper!" He shouted. "I'm still reeling from the fact that I even _offered_ an internship! Now I have to deal with...with a _teenager_ running around here?" He gaped, turning back to her with a wide-eyed expression. "How, how, _how_ am I supposed to deal with this kid? I mean, I barely even associate with people under the age of 25. At the most, I give a couple of speeches here and there, and even then, I have a thoroughly vetted script hanging in front of my damn face."

"I do not mix with kids, Pepper. Any reaction is sure to be explosive. I mean, hell! The one kid I ever really _did_ interact with nearly _died_ because of me! And that was only for one night. This kid's going to be coming by _three days a week._ " He ran a hand through his hair as he shakily sat back down in his chair from before.

He rested his head in one hand as he let out another groan. "I _cannot_ mess this up, Pepper. This kid...this kid already has enough on his plate as it is. I can't mangle him anymore." He moaned. "But that's all I can foresee in the future cause in case you didn't know, I'm Tony _frikkin_ Stark. I. Am. Not. Good. With. Kids!" He let out a muffled huff as he buried his head in his hands.

Pepper could only blink in shock for a moment as the man finally finished his rant. It'd been a while since he'd blown off steam like that.

_Now_ she was interested. Just who was this kid, anyway?

Walking over, she knelt down on the ground in front of the man's chair and slowly pulled his hands away from his face. His tired eyes met hers. "Tony, listen to me. I know kids have never really been your area of expertise, and I know you're probably really worried about this. But I really think you should cut yourself some slack." She smiled.

"I mean, _you're_ the one who offered the kid the internship in the first place. _You're_ the one who's concerned about him. If you weren't, you wouldn't be freaking out this much. And that's a _good_ thing, Tony. It's good you're nervous cause that means you _care._ " She explained, Tony raising a brow at this as he pulled his lips back, blowing out an unsure hiss.

" _'Care'_ seems like too strong a word here."

"Fine. You're...invested."

"Ehh...better."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "You obviously are, or else you'd be treating this the same way you treat your board meetings." She grumbled, the man flashing her a small smirk at the obvious jab.

"I'm sure everything is going to be fine, Tony. Besides, you're not alone in this. You have me. You have Rhodes. And... well, I'd say Vision could help you out, but you never know. He _still_ can't seem to wrap his head around _doors."_ She muttered, Tony chuckling softly at this.

The man stared back at the woman for a moment before a small smile formed on his face. He let out a sigh as he rubbed the side of his face. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still...this is going to be a _long_ day." He groaned, rubbing his face again.

Pepper felt a small smirk form on her face as the exasperated look the man was currently giving. "So what time can we expect this little guest of yours?" She asked as she slowly began to make her way back towards the door.

"He should be getting here after school."

"Uh-huh . . . and are you expecting the kid to _walk_ all the way here, or are you sending a driver?" She asked, stopping in the doorway.

Tony's face grew thoughtful for a moment before a mischievous grin broke. He reached down onto his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before bringing it to his ear. After a second, the other line answered.

"Hey, Happy?"

_"Yeah?"_

"You're not doing anything right now, are you?"

_"Uhh..."_

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Tech - Outer Courtyard**

**02:25 p.m.**

Peter smiled and gave a small wave as he watched Ned pile into his mother's car before driving off. The teen watched his best friend's car pull away from the curb before letting out a sigh, trotting down the last few remaining stairs of the school entrance before hopping up onto the stone pillars that flanked the doors.

The boy reached behind him and unzipped his back, pulling out one of the many notebooks he kept in his bag. But instead of his other books which were filled with notes on Shakespeare and population growth, this particular notebook had a little spider doodled in the corner.

Scrawling past the first twenty pages, which were filled with normal school notes in case the Cons ever decided to check said book, Peter stopped at the last page that had work on it. A multitude of different sketches were scattered across the page, new designs for web-shooters and chemical formulas he was itching to try the next time he had a chance in Mr. Mitchell's class.

Creating new webs in his high-school chemistry lab wasn't ideal, nor was it the safest, but it was the only option really available to him unless he was willing to steal from either the school of his father. Neither of those were very appealing options, so the classroom was his best bet for the foreseeable future.

Speaking of the _future,_ Peter couldn't stop his eyes from occasionally flitting to the street. A small, nervous frown set upon his face as he pulled his legs up, crossing them underneath him as he rested his elbows on his thighs, holding the open book close to his body as he tried to focus on the page, tried to figure out the best configuration to store as much webbing as possible.

It would be here.

Kids milled past the stairs next to him as he tried to concentrate, different cars pulling up to the side, swallowing up one kid or another before driving off again. Each car that stopped made the boy's eyes drift up, instantly earning a silent berating before he'd try to focus back up again. What was he so worried about, anyway?

It wasn't a dream.

He continued to relay the words over and over again in his mind. His thigh began to bounce up and down as his fingers drummed against the edge of the page, the paper tensing with each movement. Peter let out a steady breath through his mouth, nibbling on his bottom lip as he cast another worried look up towards the sidewalk.

It would _be_ here.

After another few minutes of rereading the same formula for the tenth time, Peter sighed and snapped the notebook shut, realizing he'd never get anything done like this. But as his eyes drifted away from the pages, he noticed the sleek black car pulling up to the curb, standing out like a sore thumb against the sea of busted minivans and old hand-me-downs.

Peter was used to cars that screamed ' _look at how much money I have'_ , considering that was all his father seemed to drive, but it was still an unusual sight seeing one stopping outside of his school. So the boy simply stared at the car as it stopped, the passenger window rolling down slowly, revealing the face of one not-so-happy man.

"What? You just gonna keep staring at it? Let's go!" He shouted before rolling the window up once more.

The words and the sharpness at which they were barked quickly had Peter nearly tumbling from his seat atop the pillar. He practically threw the notebook back into his bag, not even bothering to zip it up before he was quickly hurrying over to the car, sliding into the backseat wordlessly.

The man, whom he was pretty sure was ironically named Happy Hogan, threw him a look from the rearview mirror. The coldness in his gaze made Peter squirm, an uncomfortable itch slinking up his arms as he felt the sudden need to shrink up and become as small as possible. Thankfully, Mr. Hogan's gaze quickly fell away with a huff of annoyance as he twisted the wheel and pulled away from the school.

Peter tried not to hear the murmured grumblings of the man as he drove, realizing he probably wasn't meant to hear them at all. But it was hard to ignore, what with it being the only other noise in the car.

"Can't believe...Tony I swear I am going to rip you a new one when I, ugg...As if I don't have anything better to do than drive some kid around..."

The teen didn't say anything, knew it wasn't his place. The best bet he had was to sit quietly and try not to piss the man off even further. (It was always better to just be quiet, anyway.) So with that, the kid let out a soft sigh and turned towards the window, resting his cheek against a propped-up fist.

As the two fell into tense silence, Peter felt his stomach beginning to churn nervously, though - shockingly - it wasn't from the man currently driving. It was from where they were driving _to._ It was a familiar feeling, a wiggling mass that sat heavy in his gut. He felt it every time he walked home, a permanent weight in his stomach that made him feel like his footsteps were leaving indents in the sidewalk.

Throughout all of his classes, he'd felt nothing but excitement fluttering in his stomach. But now, with nothing standing between him and Tony Stark save for a short car trip, he could feel his anxiety crawling back into his body like a rabid animal trying to hide from the sun. Just like that, all of his worries from before were slowly beginning to eat at him once again.

_Cool it, Parker. You're fine. Everything's fine. Everything's...fine._

The words sounded right in his head, but for some reason, he couldn't get them to reach his stomach, which was still churning dangerously. He knew it was stupid. He knew it was ridiculous to _still_ be freaking out about this, especially considering the fact that Mr. Stark had already explained himself the day before. And yet, Peter couldn't stop himself from comfortingly rubbing circles into the back of his hand with his thumb as his thoughts ran wild.

_What if I do something stupid? What if I...what if I blow something up? Something super important? What if I annoy him? I do that sometimes, don't I? That's what Sandra says. That I'm annoying. Spider-Man's annoying, too. No, that's different. Spider-Man's different._

_You're no Spider-Man. Not right now. Not without the mask._

Peter instinctively banged his hand hard against the window to smack himself out of his thoughts, to which Happy stole a glance from the front seat. The teen quickly averted his gaze, foot tapping quickly against the floor of the car. The man rolled his eyes and turned back around, but thankfully didn't say anything. Peter blew out a small breath, tracing the lines in the leather seats with his eyes to slow his beating heart and calm himself.

He'd been doing that way too much recently. Getting buried in his thoughts.

Peter didn't have much time to dwell on them as he felt the car slow. Blinking back into reality, the boy stole a glance outside the window and couldn't help his jaw from dropping open. If he'd been paying attention, he would have caught the small smirk on Happy's face at his reaction.

Instead, his focus was on the _humongous_ building in front of him. Stark Tower was easily one of the largest buildings in the city, nearly rivaling the Empire State building in terms of greatness. Sure, he'd seen it from afar _plenty_ of times, heck, his balcony had a pretty clear shot of it. But he'd _never_ seen it like this before.

The sleek metal exterior glinted in the sunlight, the numerous windows plastered along the sides adding to the building's reflective quality. From below, the tower seemed to reach all the way up to the clouds, a huge balcony and landing pad visible near the top floors.

The entranceway was just as impressive, Peter noted as the car began to pull up to the building with perfectly sculpted hedges flanking the road and a large pond with matching fountain in the center of the roundabout just outside the front doors.

Peter didn't even register that the car had stopped until his car door suddenly swung open.

He jumped back slightly before realizing that Happy had exited the car and was now staring at him expectantly. Blinking back into focus, the boy fumbled with the seatbelt before tossing his backpack over his shoulder, mumbling a strew of apologies to Happy as he quickly stumbled out of the car.

Peter kept a steeled grip on the strap of his backpack as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his jeans. Happy didn't seem to take much notice as he walked past him, Peter quickly falling in line behind him.

But if he thought the outside of the building was impressive, then the inside was beyond anything he could have imagined.

The lobby was huge, stretching from the entranceway and the surrounding glass walls to the back, where a security checkpoint had been set up, preventing anybody from proceeding deeper into the building without proper clearance. In the center of the room stood the circular receptionist's desk, complete with a holographic projection of the company logo hovering a few meters overhead. Along the glass walls that made up the sides of the first floor were rows of plush leather chairs and tables, most likely a waiting area of sorts. But it was really the sight above them that was one to behold.

The ceiling stretched far overhead, most likely by a few hundred feet. The upper floors could be seen from where he stood with metal bridges creating pathways across the gap. It was as if the floors stretched up for infinity.

Peter couldn't keep the small excited grin off of his face as he stared up at the sight. He'd only ever been to his father's building a handful of times, and it had nothing on this!

The kid was jolted from his thoughts as Happy turned to look at him. "I'll be right back." He muttered as he began to head towards the security checkpoint, which led down a large hallway, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. "And _don't_ touch anything." He called.

Peter watched the man walk away before fiddling awkwardly with his fingers, unsure of what to do. Around him, people continued to mill around, different clipboards, charts, and/or papers filling their hands as they did. Realizing he was more or less in the way, Peter took notice of the chairs sitting up against the far side wall.

Slowly making his way over, he took a seat and watched as the workers skimmed by, each looking incredibly busy. _I wonder if it's this busy over at Stark Industries._ The boy thought to himself. After all, this building wasn't the company's main location, and yet it seemed just as busy as one.

Peter probably shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, Stark Industries was one of the most widely known companies _worldwide_. Obviously, they couldn't deal with having just one point of business.

And yet, watching the crowd of scientists and workers whizzing past in a constant flowing rate, Peter couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed. The chattering of colleagues, the whirring of machines and the beeping of computers all seemed to jumble together into a massive wave of cacophony that threatened to bowl the kid over. Peter felt his knee bouncing up and down as his fingers clamped down around the edge of the seat. The chaos around him didn't help to alleviate his past anxieties at all. In fact, they probably were just making them worse.

_Get a grip, Parker. You're fine. Everything's fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Mr. Stark's going to come and everything is going to be alright. You're going to do whatever he says and keep him happy. Do NOT make him mad. Just...don't do anything stupid._

Once again, Peter felt himself falling into a trap of repeating the same words over and over again, continuously fighting to convince himself of the things he was saying. And yet, the boy couldn't help the slight twinge in the back of his head that wondered if whether or not this was actually real; that any minute now, his father was going to spring out from behind the walls, fury in his eyes at his son's Spider-Man antics before dragging him home to his impending doom, a laughing Tony Stark in the background.

_That's not gonna happen. He's not gonna tell. Mr. Stark wouldn't tell him..._

_. . ._

_...unless you make him mad. What's to stop him from spilling it then? Or blackmailing you into doing whatever he wants? How safe are you with him, Peter? How do you know he's not lying to you?_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Everyone lies._

"Hey, kid."

Peter let out a loud yelp, flinging himself backward in shock, the chair scraping painfully against the tile floor at his movements. Tony's reaction was all too similar, the man leaping backward as he retracted his arm.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" He huffed, placing a hand over his heart. "You're gonna have to stop doing that." He muttered, casting the boy a strange look.

Peter gazed at the man for a moment before a light blush fell over his cheeks. "S-sorry...y-you scared me." He murmured quietly.

The billionaire opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he just sucked in a breath and clamped his jaw shut, like he was trying to decide how to proceed. Peter noticed this, but quickly lowered his gaze, deciding not to comment and to just let the man take the reigns here. Better safe than sorry. He wrung his hands tightly before moving them behind his back, suddenly unsure where to put them. He twisted the tip of his show against the tile underneath, a soft squeak sounding from the movement.

"Soooo..." Mr. Stark breathed, seeming to draw out the word as long as he could, perhaps to buy himself some time. "How was school?"

Peter scrunched his face slightly at the out-of-the-blue question before lowering his gaze. "I-it was fine, I guess. We...we had a test in calculus. I-it was...easy..." he murmured, unsure as to how much the man wanted him to say, soft brown curls falling into his face.

Still, despite his hidden gaze, the teen was still able to make out the slight shifting of the man before him, the way his weight bounced back and forth between his feet, like he was unsure of himself. But that couldn't be. Tony Stark didn't get uncomfortable...right?

The question hanging heavy in the back of his mind, the boy couldn't help but peek up at the man's face. Mr. Stark was glancing away from him, face pinched in a grimace as he muttered something under his breath, but the words were too garbled for Peter to understand, even with his heightened senses.

However, the man was quick to give himself a little shake as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated security badge, extending it out to the teen. Peter hesitated for a moment, to which Mr. Stark gave it a little shake. "It's not going to bite you, ya know? Hurry up. Take it."

Quickly snatching the card away with a new heat flushing over his cheeks, Peter twisted it over in his hand as the billionaire continued to speak. "You need a badge to get anywhere in this place. Tons of security checkpoints around here. Occupational hazard, I guess."

Nothing about the card was too notable, it included everything he'd been expecting, but the words printed along the top of the badge had the teen's brows quirking.

" _Head Intern?_ Aren't I your... _only_ intern?"

"Yeah, but that _technically_ means you _are_ the Head Intern," Mr. Stark said with a smirk as he winked down at the kid. Peter didn't say anything, nor did he express anything at the gesture. The man cleared his throat awkwardly before glancing away again. "Right...so I should probably...show you around."

With that, the man turned and began to walk towards the security scanners. It was a row of three-foot metal scanners that reminded Peter of the ticket scanners down in the subways. Though he was pretty certain there was a higher level of security here compared to down in New York's transportation tunnels. In fact, there didn't appear to be anywhere to scan a badge. The apparent simplicity of the security measure had the teen's face scrunching slightly in confusion. It looked as if anybody, badge or no, could simply waltz right through the scanners and into the main building.

Mr. Stark must have noticed his doubtful look, for he gestured towards the badge now pinned to Peter's chest. "These things are packed with all sorts of sensors. They scan for badges, x-ray for weapons and screen for any signs of radiation."

He gestured to the floor just ahead of the scanners, where Peter noticed there was a small, almost indiscernible slit in ground that stretched along the entire floor from one wall to the other. "If anything abnormal or potentially dangerous passes through the sensors, the security walls go up, blocking any access to the rest of the building," he explained as he walked through the entrance to the hallway.

_"Welcome back, Boss."_

Peter jumped slightly at the new voice, Tony giving him a strange look to which he responded with a slight blush. The man snorted before glancing up towards the ceiling. "That's just FRIDAY, kid. The AI system around here." He raised up his hands before gesturing towards Peter. "Mr. Parker, FRIDAY. FRIDAY, Mr. Parker."

" _Hello, Mr. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you."_ The feminine voice called down from the ceiling.

Peter blinked up in shock for a moment before clearing his throat. "Um...h-hello?" He stuttered out, Tony leaning down towards him. "I suggest you get acquainted with her." He said as the kid continued to flit his gaze around the ceiling.

"Welp, let's get started, shall we?" Tony mused, a smirk playing on his lips as he guided Peter down the hallway and out into another open area.

The setup seemed rather tame considering where they were. To the left sat a glass wall that revealed the conference room inside while to the right was an assortment of couches and chairs set up into a waiting area of sorts. The room extended past into another long hall, but there was also an escalator that extended up into the second floor.

"This is usually where I'm dragged over for board meeting and press conferences." The man muttered with an obvious tone of disgust that had the teen cracking a small smile. Despite the rather tepid surroundings, he couldn't help the feeling of awe that coursed through him, perhaps more that he wasn't home than at his actual surroundings. Still,

"I got to say, Mr. Stark," Peter stuttered out. "T-this is all super impressive."

Mr. Stark surprisingly let out a snort at the kid's words, Peter's face contorting slightly in mild confusion.

The man let out a pleased sigh as he clapped the kid on the shoulder. "Ahh...kid, you haven't seen anything yet." He smirked as the escalator dropped them off on the second floor.

Peter was just about to ask the man what he meant as the pair walked forward towards the railing when his eyes caught sight of what was down below them.

His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew twice as wide as he rushed over to the ledge, leaning against the railing as he gazed down at the sight below them.

"Woah..."

Below them, there were at least a hundred people milling around the room, passing papers, sharing holographic images or simply typing at their stations. The space reminded Peter of a hockey rink, both in size and in shape. Different tables lay scattered around the room, each projecting different holograms into the air a few inches above the surface. The computers atop the hundreds of desks were all of a similar fashion, the rapid taping of keys reaching Peter's ears. Along the back wall, he noticed the floor dipped down and converted into a staircase that led to a lower level.

However, despite the chaos below him, it was the sight in the center of the room that really had him captivated. A large transparent cylindrical tube, around the same diameter of a hot tub, stretched up from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Inside, a bright stream of blue energy crackle and sparked violently as it flowed through like a waterfall.

He could vaguely hear the man chuckling beside him, but his focus was still drawn on the sheer energy in the room below. And this was only the second floor? How was he going to survive?!

"I-is that..." Peter asked hesitantly, glancing over at the crackling energy in the tube below.

"Yep. That's the arc reactor. Powers this whole joint." Tony explained. "Well...it's the energy from it. The reactor itself is under the building." Peter nodded his head before turning back to look out over the sea of workers.

Tony tapped a knuckle against the metal railing, catching the boy's attention once more. "Come on, enough of this boring stuff. We got better things to look at." He smirked as Peter gaped at him. "There's more?"

The billionaire winked at him. "Much more." He motioned for the kid to follow him towards the elevator. "Come on."

**. . . . .**

"You know...I've never been very religious, but if heaven exists, I can't imagine it's much different than this."

Tony let out a laugh at Peter's words as the kid stared through the glass, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

They were currently on one of the higher levels of the tower, looking in on one of the more bigger labs in the tower. Safe to say, Peter was practically drooling at this point. Though Tony had to admit, if he didn't constantly walk through this hall almost every day, he'd probably be doing the same.

Inside, numerous scientists and inventors snaked through the room, which, like the offices beforehand, also had a visible column of arc energy in the center. Though, this room made much better use of it.

Variations of different robots either rolled, flew or walked through the room as well, dropping off papers, conducting small electrical corrections or simply organizing files along the back wall.

Many different tables lay scattered around the room, numerous holograms hovering mere inches from the surface. The projections ranged from the latest Stark Phone models to machines in use around the tower to the reactor itself.

Tony stole a glance over at Peter and had to bite back another laugh as the boy was practically _licking_ the glass at this point. "These guys have the _best_ job in the entire _world_." The kid breathed out as he continued to stare at the scientists and engineers as they passed through the room.

The billionaire regarded the teen next to him for a moment, happy that things seemed to be looking up compared to earlier.

Never would Tony Stark admit to feeling nervous about anything, but he was definitely feeling... _something_ as he'd met the kid this afternoon. A certain jitteriness that made him wonder where to put his hands and whether or not he should comment on this or that.

The entire morning, he'd been psyching himself up to deal with the kid professionally and as soon as the teen looked up at him with those big brown eyes of him, it all blew up in smoke, drifting out of his mind like a summer breeze, hot and uncomfortable. It was ridiculous!

Here was Tony Stark, a man who'd given thousands of presentations, some to people as high on the social ladder as you can possibly go, without even breaking a sweat. Heck, he'd held dozens of conversations with the president, taking one even while he was working on building a new coffee machine that didn't cut him off when it felt he'd had enough - _damn thing_ , and he'd handled it like it was nothing.

And yet, here he was, standing in front of a scrawny, nervous little fourteen-year-old boy who currently looked like he could throw up at any second, totally speechless.

But if Tony Stark knew anything, it was how to wing it.

And ' _winging it'_ was really all he could describe this as, for they'd been drifting from one floor to the other for the past few hours. Of course, Peter didn't really seem to mind or notice Tony's lack of planning, for his excitement seemed to grow every floor they went up.

But as they progressed, Tony couldn't help but watch, watch and _observe_.

Peter was certainly an... _oddity._

The billionaire believed he was beginning to pick up on the kid's many mannerisms. He had been quick to notice a pattern with his speech. Whenever he was too engrossed in the sights and wonders around him, his stutter seemed to dissipate, almost as if his brain was too busy focusing on the sights to interfere with his speech. That in itself made Tony wonder.

More often than not, the people he usually talked to were very careful and precise in what they said to him, picking and choosing their words carefully as to not give away anything they didn't want to. But Peter, well. . . Peter was just a kid. Once he got going on something that interested him, he'd usually take it as far as he could, the words seeming to tumble out of his mouth. Whether he realized he was doing it or not, Tony didn't know, though he'd probably bet on the not.

"How are our power levels?" Tony called through the intercom on the side wall. The woman currently standing in front of the projection turned to look at him before reaching up and pressing her earpiece. "Arc levels are at one hundred percent, sir." She called, Tony giving a small nod before glancing back down at Peter.

"Come on, kid." He called as he exited the hallway. Peter quickly rushed after him, falling in line behind the man as he walked quickly and purposefully. Tony stole a glance at his watch before lifting up his gaze once more. "You know, I'm debating whether or not we should visit the cafeteria." He mused aloud. "Cause I mean, it's not bad per say, but there's only so much my Stark magic can do to make those places any less depressing than they usually are." He muttered as he glanced over his shoulder, only to pause as he noticed Peter was no longer behind him.

Turning back, he noticed the kid was standing a little farther down the hall, staring through the glass wall that displayed the city before it. His fingers fiddled with the zipper of his jacket as he stared out at the skyline.

The sky was slowly beginning to turn a lighter shade of blue, streaks of golden-pink clouds cutting through the sea of color. Street lamps were only now beginning to flicker to life, as well as the lights in the surrounding buildings.

Peter continued to stare out at the scene as Tony made his way to stand next to him, sharing the sight as well. "Nice view," Peter murmured softly, eyes never leaving the glass.

Tony shrugged. "You should see it from the top floor. It's unbeatable."

The boy next to him remained silent for a moment longer before he lifted his gaze to meet the billionaire's. "M-Mr. Stark?" He called softly, Tony lowering his head to meet his flickering stare. "I-I just..." The boy stuttered for a moment before a small smile graced his lips.

"Thank you...for all of this." He said quietly. "This is...t-this is more than I could ever ask for. I mean, I'm pretty sure this has been the single greatest day of my life." He beamed, smile growing as he ran a hand through his hair. "A-and I know you're probably super busy, cause I mean, you're Tony Stark. Hello! When are you _not_ busy?" He murmured before turning back to look at the man.

"But you still took the time t-to...to actually do all of this for me and...and I just...thank you." He said again, eyes going wide in excitement as he turned back to view the inside of the building. "Cause I mean... this place is just...it's _awesome!_ " He beamed, eyes gleaming as a large grin split his face. The look quickly reminded Tony of just how young the boy was as he began to ramble on about how incredible his building was, words seeming to tumble from his mouth.

Normally, Tony wasn't one to indulge people's nervous babblings, but something about the sheer joy in the teen's voice left him open to it. It was a certain...passion, a love for the technology and innovation around him, not just a fanboy gushing over the next celebrity he happened to see.

It was different. Tony decided he could let it slide, just this once of course.

However, just as he was beginning to fall into a lull with the kid's voice, it stopped short, cutting off so suddenly that Tony literally had to blink and turn around just to check and make sure the kid hadn't fallen through the floor or something.

No, Peter was still there. But the carefree expression that had begun to make its way into his face was gone, replaced with a tight, pinched look of apprehension as he began to wring his hands together, lowering his gaze to the floor. An air of uncomfortable tension quickly seemed to radiate from the teen, a thick blanket of unease. the kid spoke, a soft little whisper that was a screech different from the babblings before.

"S-sorry...I'm rambling. I..I didn't mean to...I mean I...I know I can kind of...just...sorry."

The billionaire couldn't help but pause as he stared at the kid and quirked a brow.

Now, Tony wasn't a stranger to awkward encounters. Whenever he ran into civilians, they were quick to stutter out some sort of tangled mess of garbage that could _maybe_ be perceived as English. But there was something about the way this kid spoke, something about how every word seemed to be a struggle, a fight to get out. It was disconcerting, to say the least, especially considering how lax the kid had just been moments ago.

Tony had never seen anything like it, a personality switch so jarring and so sudden, like a light switch flicking back and forth. He'd be lying if he said it didn't freak him out just a little bit.

This wasn't the first time he'd noticed it, either. Whenever the kid would begin to go on about how cool this one thing was or how awesome something else was, he'd quickly go silent afterwards, clamping his mouth shut and tightening his posture, like he was waiting for something, bracing himself.

The other times, the man had simply let it go, desperately trying to ignore that lingering twinge in his chest that screamed something wasn't right. _It isn't your problem_. He'd told himself. _You're already doing what you can. You can't help with...whatever this is. Just let it go. Just...let it go._

_. . ._

The billionaire raised a fist up to his mouth and loudly cleared his throat.

_God, damn it!_

"Yoo-hoo...Earth to Peter," he called, waiting until the kid's eyes met his, which was an annoyingly longer stretch of time than necessary. "Yeah, hi. Listen kid," he began, voice playful, yet curt, typical of a Stark. "You have _got_ to start loosening up. You're making me feel paranoid just by being _around_ you and I really don't need that sort of energy. I've already got enough to deal with just coming from _me_ so I definitely don't need to start outsourcing," he scoffed with a smirk.

Peter didn't smile back, however. Instead, he dropped his gaze again as his cheeks began to burn a soft red, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve as he inched away just a tad. "S-sorry..." he whispered, the word trickling from his mouth and spilling onto the floor with a pathetic little _splat._

Tony watched as the kid practically deflated, posture going tense and hands clenching behind his back. He grimaced at the obvious regression before a bout of confusion bubbled up inside him.

He'd chided people before and never once had he _regretted_ the disconcerting position he'd put them in. Whatever they'd felt was their own problem to deal with. At least, that was always the mentality he adopted in said circumstances.

But something about how unsure and embarrassed the kid looked made a drop of regret puddle in his stomach, a feeling he very much _didn't want._ There was plenty of _valid_ things for him to feel regret over and _this_ was not one of them.

So...why did he feel so bad all of a sudden?

He stole a glance over at the kid who currently looked like he'd much rather start sinking through the floor than stay there any longer. It was obvious Tony wouldn't be able to just ride easy with this kid. He'd have to play this carefully. The billionaire bit the inside of his cheek, debating what he should say next before adopting a screw-it mentality. What were the chances he could make things _worse_ anyway?

"Kid..." Tony called, grimacing as he noticed how hard his voice sounded, emphasized by how the boy flinched ever so slightly, refusing to meet his gaze. He bit back another sigh. God, screw eggshells. This was like walking on shards of glass...and just as painful, too. "Can you..." He tried again, lowering his voice. "Can you...um, just...here me out for a sec, kay?"

The boy's fingers curled around the hem of his jacket like a lifeline before his eyes were carefully lifting, light hazel meeting dark brown.

Tony stared down at the kid for a moment before he let out a small sigh. "In case you can't tell, I'm not very good at this sort of thing." He muttered with a smirk, the emotion not reflected back in the boy. "And I'm pretty sure I'm the _last_ person who should be lecturing you, kid. After all, I barely even know you."

" _But-"_ He added quickly. "I'm hoping to maybe...you know, change that in the future. And I don't want you to think you can't say what you want or voice whatever you're thinking, kid." He said with a shrug, noticing with a furrowed brow that the teen seemed to almost... _grimace_ at his words, like he didn't really believe them.

Tony narrowed his eyes but continued on nonetheless. "I'm not gonna... _punish_ you or whatever just for saying what's on your mind."

He reached out and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, painfully aware of how violently Peter flinched at the contact but didn't pull away. Tony tried to pretend he hadn't seen it. "Listen, kid. Nobody here is out to get you, despite what you might be expecting. So _try_ to lighten up. Cause there's nothing to be afraid of here."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, a brief little second before his eyes were drifting away. But it was enough for the billionaire to finally get a good look at the kid's eyes. They were filled with a certain...apprehension, a tense wariness that seemed to permeate throughout the teen's entire body and made the man's skin crawl for some unknown reason.

But something seemed to shift slightly at his words, a change in his gaze. It wasn't anything drastic, in fact it was barely even noticeable. But Tony could see it, could see the slight twitch in the boy's face as his shoulders lost some of their tension and his hands dropped back down to his sides. His eyes...they seemed to brighten just a tad.

The teen let a small smile fall onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You're not as bad at this as you think." He murmured quietly, flashing Tony a tiny little grin.

The billionaire felt a chuckle bubble out of his lips as he patted the kid's shoulder. "Heh, just you wait, kid."

The two began to slowly make their way back down the hallway, Peter now walking with his head held a little higher. "You know, you really should ramble on about nonsense more often." Tony remarked. "Your word vomit is _actually_ kind of full of smart ideas once you sort through it." He mused, thinking back to when Peter had spoken about the labs, giving small suggestions and remarks that had actually impressed the genius.

"Woah, hold up! Tony Stark genuinely complimenting someone else without bursting into flame or melting into a puddle of goo?" The pair turned suddenly at the new voice that sounded behind them. "What planet have I landed on?" Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes slowly made his way over to them, a large smirk plastered onto his face as the soft whirring of his leg braces filled the air.

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment, anything to keep them off the braces that seemed to fill his ears with their horrid whirring. "Ha, ha. How long you been brewing _that_ comment, huh?"

"Couple years," the man chuckled as he stopped before them. "How's it been, man?" Rhodes asked, taking the time to actually look at the man. Apart from a few scratches and a couple of bruises that were still visible, it was hard to tell Tony had even been hurt in Siberia at all.

But Rhodey knew. He knew all too well.

Tony gave him a small smirk. "Can't complain, Platypus."

The colonel rolled his eyes but said nothing. Tony supposed the man was used to his deflecting. But he knew sooner or later, his friend would be back, hounding him to discuss things he'd much rather forget. Best to hold that off for as long as possible.

"Uh-huh," Rhodey muttered as he shook his head, his eyes falling on a sight just behind his friend. He glanced over at Tony and gave him a questioning stare. The billionaire didn't have to wonder what the man was looking at. he could practically _feel_ Peter hiding behind him.

"Who's the kid?"

Tony stepped to the side, allowing his friend to get a good view of the strange kid before him. Rhodey, ever the adult he was, put on a warm smile and stepped closer, offering out a hand.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Colonel James Rhodes. But most people call me either Rhodes or Rhodey." He said calmly.

The teen stared at the man's outstretched hand before flicking his gaze up to meet his face. "I...I-I...um, I'm...I'm P-"

"Peter." Tony finally interjected, placing a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder. "Peter Parker." He stepped closer towards the colonel, cupping his hand so the kid couldn't hear. "Would it _kill_ you to stop looking so intimidating? Kid's already freaked enough as it is."

Rhodey gave the man a strange look before glancing back over at the kid, who was now furiously staring at the ground like his life depended on it. Tony silently prayed the man would let it go, not too keen on seeing the kid freak out over some impromptu interrogation.

"What are you doing here anyway, Rhodey?" The man asked, hoping to direct his friend's attention away from the kid. "Not that I don't enjoy every living, breathing second I have with you."

"The meetings in DC finished earlier than expected." He explained. "I was going to swing by the compound when I got back, but Pepper asked me to just come straight here."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed at that. "Pepper?"

"Yes, me."

Once again, heads turned at the new voice.

Pepper smiled as she walked over to the three boys, red hair swishing past her shoulders as she did so. Tony threw her a mock glare. "So, what? You just decided to call in my babysitter?" He muttered, though the woman was quick to catch the gratitude in his eyes at her concern for him.

The woman, as usual, played along. "Well someone has to watch you, and I don't have time in my schedule to bottle-feed you anymore." She muttered, stopping next to the colonel as the two long-time friends exchanged quick pecks on the cheek.

Tony rolled his eyes at her words, the motion causing him to catch a small glimpse of Peter. The boy was shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, tightly gripping onto the bottom of his jacket so hard his hands were shaking. The look in his eyes told Tony the increasing number of people in the room wasn't doing anything to alleviate his nerves.

Nevertheless, he knew he'd have to introduce the kid to his two closest friends eventually, especially since the kid was going to be at the Tower often.

_He might as well get used to them now._ Tony thought to himself as he gently pushed the frozen Peter closer towards the two others.

Pepper gazed at the wide-eyed boy for a moment before a soft smile graced her lips. "Hello, young man." She said, gently. "My name's Pepper Potts. I work over at Stark Industries, but you'll often probably see me around here, too." She explained. "What's your name?"

Peter held the woman's gaze for a second before quickly glancing over towards Tony. It took the man a moment to realize the kid was asking for his approving nod. Blinking back his millisecond of surprise, the billionaire gave a nod of his head, prompting the kid to speak.

The teen gulped before turning back towards Pepper. "P...P-Peter. Parker."

If Tony's eyes hadn't been on the kid before him, he would have seen the way Pepper stiffened, eyes flashing for a brief moment as she registered the name. "Peter Parker?"

"Yep, Pete here is our newest intern." He said with a smile. "Actually, he's our first intern, but you get the idea."

Rhodey's eyes widened. "Intern?" He asked, casting Tony a questioning look. " _Intern_?"

"Yep, intern. Now, considering we still have around another hour and a half before little Peter here had to head on home, I suggest we go ahead and check out a few more of the upper-house labs for-"

"Hold up! You're telling me that you, _Mr. If I Wanted Some Idiot Following Me Around I'd Just Head Up Over To Oscorp_ , are taking an intern? _Willingly_?!" Rhodey questioned, his tone voicing his shock.

"Yes, pay attention," Tony muttered with a roll of his eyes. He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder as the pair began to make their way back over toward the elevators, the billionaire continuing to chat up a storm as the teen simply gazed up at him with a small smile.

Rhodey watched the two disappear into the elevator, face still clearly showing his shock and confusion as he turned back to Pepper. "Alright, what the hell is going on around here?" He asked her, only to furrow his brow as he caught sight of the woman.

Pepper was currently staring at the ground, eyes narrowed as she chewed on one of her nails, obviously deep in thought. She jumped as Rhodey placed a hand on her arm, turning back to look at the man. "Hey, are you alright?" He asked, gazing at her in slight concern.

The woman stared back at him for a moment before grabbing his arm, quickly dragging him over towards the elevator. "Come on. I have to check something." She stated as the two stepped into the elevator.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

Pepper glanced over at him before shaking her head. "I don't know yet. But I have a bad feeling about something."

Rhodey furrowed his brow. "What do you mean. Bad feeling about what?"

The woman tapped her fingers nervously against the side of her leg. "That kid. Peter. I know I've heard his name before." She explained, the elevator dropping them off on her desired floor.

Quickly stepping off, Rhodey hurriedly followed her as the pair made their way over to the office Pepper used whenever she had work to do at the tower. Stepping inside, the woman quickly sat down at her chair and typed in her password, her computer quickly lighting up.

Rhodey watched with narrowed eyes as the woman began to search through her files, the uneasy feeling in his stomach worsening when she began to dig through the _encrypted_ files. Something was definitely off, then.

"A few months before this whole mess with the Accords, Tony asked me to keep tabs on a growing figure on the internet and social media." She explained, pulling up the videos she'd saved. "Anything that had to do with this guy was marked."

The video showed a red and blue clad figure swinging across the frame. Even though the costume was atrocious and the video was blurry, Rhodey instantly recognized who it was. "Hold up. That's the kid that helped us in Leipzig." He gaped, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a better view of the figure. "Still don't know where Tony found that guy, but I have to admit, he did help us out." He muttered before turning back towards Pepper. "But what does this have to do with Peter?" He asked.

Pepper turned back towards the computer. "Well, at around the exact same time, Tony also asked me to pull any information I could get on a Peter Parker." She stated, clicking on the kid's file.

Rhodes watched as a picture of the kid from before popped up on the screen, as well as his birth documents, school records, and other sensitive information. "I didn't really understand what the fascination with this kid was, but I didn't question it." She muttered, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the screen, the split view showing both images of Spider-Man and Peter.

"But the main thing that struck me was the coincidental timing between both of these people Tony wanted record of." She explained, turning back towards Rhodes. "After all, Tony might be a bit...eccentric at times, but everything he does, he does for a reason. Meaning there was a reason he wanted to know about this kid. There was a reason he wanted their files not only kept together but also locked with some of our most complicated encryptions and firewalls." She stated. "I knew there had to be a connection. I just didn't know what." She muttered. "I still don't."

Turning back towards the screen, Pepper stared at the images before her. The image of Peter was the same image they'd used for his security pass, a recent yearbook photo. Pepper rubbed at her temple, feeling the start of a headache working its way through her head. She flicked her gaze over towards the frozen image of Spider-Man.

Rhodey let out a small sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck, moving over towards the seat across from Pepper's desk. He winced as he lowered himself into the chair, his legs protesting loudly. He cracked open his eyes for a moment to steal a glance towards the image of the hero before shutting his eyes once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "God, that costume is horrible." He muttered. "It wasn't like that in Berlin, thank God. It looks like something a kindergartner would make." He sighed, resting his head against the back of his chair, the weariness from his flight finally getting the best of him.

Pepper, however, was now fully awake. Rhodey's words echoed in her mind as she switched her gaze from Spider-Man to Peter and back.

_Or something a teenager would make._

"Oh, God..." She breathed softly, chest constricting at the possibility running through her brain.

"What? What is it?" Rhodes asked, lifting her head to stare at her.

Pepper stared at the screen for a moment longer before blinking back into reality, closing down the files with shaky fingers as she focused her gaze on her desk. "Rhodey. . ." She called, not bothering to lift her gaze. She needed to know. She needed to know _now_.

"In Berlin, when you were fighting with Spider-Man, did he...maybe...seem a little... _young_ to you?" She asked hesitantly.

The colonel was now rubbing his eyes again. "Um...yeah. Yeah, he seemed really young. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd have said he was around, maybe… I don't know...about-"

"About fourteen, maybe fifteen?"

The man furrowed his brow for a moment, opening his mouth to reply before realization hit him harder than a freight train. He instantly shot upright, eyes going wide as he turned to stare at Pepper.

"Oh, no he did _not_!"

Pepper placed her head in her hands as she resisted the urge to groan. "I think he did." She whispered softly.

Rhodey shook his head, rising up to his feet once more. "No. No, no, no. Tony may be a little crazy at times, and sure he can be a bit impulsive. But there's no way he'd ever be stupid and irresponsible enough to-

. . .

. . .

. . .

...son of a bitch."


	4. Rule 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3) I Will Never Make Eye Contact

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Lounge and Dining Area**

**04:32 p.m.**

"Whoa! Seriously?"

"Yep! I took his call when I was right in the middle of working."

"That's...wait - why were...why were you making a new coffee machine anyway? Isn't that a little below your average priority?"

Tony let out a huff as he narrowed his eyes. "Not when the _old_ one wouldn't stop cutting me off. Like, really? Who is _it_ to judge how many cups of coffee I can have? It's a damn machine!" He pouted.

Peter giggled beside him, Tony suppressing the urge to do the same as he continued to mope. After the two left Pepper and Rhodey to continue the tour, the billionaire caved and decided to take the teen over to the cafeteria, where Peter confirmed his past suspicions that _nothing -_ _ **BUT**_ _nothing_ could make a cafeteria any less depressing than it usually was, not even Tony Stark.

That's how the pair found themselves sitting on one of the lounge couches near the eating area, staring out the window at the setting sun while sipping on milkshakes. The billionaire had nearly sputtered in shock when Peter had nonchalantly stated he'd never had one before. Not two seconds later, there was an extra large chocolate shake being thrust into his hands.

For the past ten minutes, the two had simply been sitting quietly while Tony chatted away about this thing and that. Most people would have submitted to the urge to roll their eyes and fall asleep out of sheer boredom after five minutes, but not Peter.

Peter was happy to listen.

Tony was _currently_ recounting all of the conversations he's had with the President over the past couple of years, as well as his annoyance at his appliances for ganging up against him. He still had a sneaking suspicion Pepper had tampered with the coffee machine _somehow_ , but he still didn't know for sure. . .

Just as the man was about to delve into how he'd _accidentally_ "dropped" the old coffee machine out the window on the sixty-third floor, he heard the earpiece on him beep quietly. "Hold up for a sec, kid." He called, raising up his hand as he pressed down on the piece.

" _Tony, we have to talk."_

The man grimaced slightly at the tone of voice Pepper was currently using. That was the _"you've just fucked up big time and now it's time for me to whoop your ass"_ voice.

"Pepper, I'm a little busy here at the moment." He called back, glancing back over towards Peter, who was fighting with his straw as he tried to trap the cherry down at the bottom of his glass.

" _It's important._ "

Uh-oh. Rhodey was there, too? Then he'd _really_ fucked _something_ up. He let out a reluctant sigh as he stood up, Peter's eyes following him as he did so. "I'll be right there." He muttered in submission before ending the call.

A small guttural groan escaped his lips as he lowered his hand once more, turning his head to look at Peter, realizing the boy was now gazing up at him. Upon noticing the man's attention was back on him, the boy quickly averted his gaze, hesitantly lifting his eyes to focus on the collar of Tony's suit.

That was something else the billionaire had been quick to pick up on. Apart from the kid's stutter, the other obvious tick about him was that he never really made eye contact with anyone, especially not Tony. At most, he'd get a fleeting look, which quickly disappeared as soon as Tony noticed. Usually, the teen's gaze only ever reached up to stare at the collar of his shirt.

Once again, Tony didn't really know how he felt about that.

"Is...is everything...okay?"

Tony was jolted from his thoughts as Peter spoke softly. The man regarded the boy for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Actually, I have to go and talk to Pepper and Rhodey about something and-"

"Oh, right. I-I'm...I'm so sorry." Peter stuttered out, quickly rising up to his feet. "I didn't m-mean to take up your time, Mr. Stark and-"

"Ease up, would you? You're not keeping me from anything. It's just this one thing that's come up _right now_."

"Oh...o-okay." The teen whispered out quietly. "Umm...I-I can...I can just wait...wait here for you while you go and...do what you have to."

Tony stared down at the boy in thought, his words leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach. He already knew the kid _would not_ be alright sitting by himself around the heavily-traversed area. The only reason he assumed the boy hadn't noticed the sheer amount of people constantly walking around them was because he'd been talking to Tony for most of the time.

The billionaire could still remember the look of sheer anxiety on the kid's face when he'd first met him in the lobby, surrounded by all those strangers. And from what Happy had told him, the kid had only been down there for five minutes!

 _Well, he can't stay here..._ Tony muttered to himself as he glared around at the numerous people walking through the hall, either leaving the cafeteria or entering with colleagues. Loud voices and shrill laughter could be heard between them as they walked.

Apparently, Peter had begun to notice the others as well, for his arms were now tightly wrapped around himself and he was rubbing little circles against the back of his left hand with his thumb, another tick Tony had picked up on. Occasionally, the boy would steal nervous glances around himself, as if he were waiting to be jumped or something.

 _The last thing I need is for this kid to have a panic attack in the middle of a group of strangers._ Tony growled at himself. But then where could he _put_ the teen, exactly? It wasn't like this tower had a daycare center or anything!

"Umm... M-Mr. Stark?"

Tony jolted as his name was called. Glancing back down, he met Peter's gaze for a second before the kid pulled away, eyes falling back to his collar. "Um, are...are you okay? You've k-kinda just been staring out i-into space for a while." He murmured unsurely.

"Yep. Fine. Just trying to find a good place to put you, kid."

"... _put_ me?"

"Mm-hmm." Tony mused. "Can't exactly just leave you here with all the weirdos, now can I?" The billionaire explained as he began to lead the boy over to the elevator.

Peter's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at the man. "Y-you don't have to do that, Mr. Stark. I'll be f-" The kid winced as a large group of workers walked particularly close to the pair, brushing up against his arm for a moment. Quickly regaining his composure, Peter flashed an embarrassed look to Tony before lowering his gaze back down. "I'll...I'll be fine." He whispered in a much softer tone.

Tony couldn't help the sympathetic look that washed over his face for a fraction of a second before he quickly recomposed himself. "Yeah, I'm sure you would be." He decided to play along. "Just humor me, 'kay?" He asked with a small wink.

Peter gazed up at him for a moment before giving a small nod,

" _Tony. We need you here, now."_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, Rhodey! But in case you didn't realize, I kind of have an influential minor on my hands, so if you could just give me a _frikkin_ minute here, that'd be very much appreciated!" He called back as he began to lead the kid towards the elevator.

" _Tony, we're not fucking around. Now get your ass over here before I come over there and drag you here myself!"_

As Rhodey continued to yell into his ear, Tony couldn't suppress his sigh as he began to rub his temple. "Hey, FRIDAY?" He called.

" _Yes, Boss?"_

"Go on and take junior here someplace private." He called, grimacing as he heard Rhodey continuing to yell at him. Something about death threats and face punching or something like that. He wasn't really listening anymore.

"Anywhere, FRI. I just... can't deal with this right now." He growled out as he turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a migraine beginning to work its way forward.

" _Right away, Boss."_ The AI called.

"I'll come find you in a little while, kid. Alright?" He called, not even bothering to wait for an answer as the elevator doors shut once more. He let out a small sigh as he moved over towards the next elevator and stepped inside. "Pepper's office, FRI." He called as the elevator doors slid closed.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the metal bar that wrapped around the elevator walls as he ran through a list of everything he'd done in the past two weeks and just which one of those events he was about to be scolded for.

He hadn't done anything _too_ bad lately... _right?_

**. . . . .**

Peter blinked curiously as the elevator doors opened up onto a new floor. He hadn't seen this place yet. _Have we not come to this part of the tour yet?_ Peter wondered to himself as he stepped out of the elevator.

Everything was dark, and yet, even with the lack of light, Peter could tell whatever room he'd just entered was big. _Really_ big.

"Umm...hello?" He called, heart racing at the idea of bumping into a stranger while he couldn't see them. It was bad enough dealing with people when they were actually in his line of sight.

" _Hello, Mr. Parker."_

Peter jumped at FRIDAY's voice filtering in through the ceiling, a nervous smile working its way onto his face. "Jeez...I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that." He murmured to himself.

"Uhh..." _How do you talk to a computer, again?_ "Excuse me...but it's...uhh...it's a l-little dark in here and..."

_"Of course. Allow me to turn on the lights."_

Peter blinked as sharp lights quickly illuminated overtop his head, momentarily blinding him.

After taking a second to readjust, the teen lifted his head once more, only for his jaw to nearly hit the floor at the sight before him.

"Holy crap..."

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**04:31 p.m.**

Never in a million years would he admit it, but Tony's heart was beating considerably faster than usual. He was used to Pepper scolding him. He was used to Rhodey scolding him. He was even used to the two of them scolding him together. But there was just something about the sound of Pepper's voice through the earpiece.

It hadn't been the usual exasperation of him skipping an important meeting or blatantly ignoring something she'd specifically told him to do. This...this was different. This was a resigned, foreboding ring that had his chest tightening the same way it had right before she'd ended things between them.

That alone had Tony's stomach churning in slight nervousness. But just like then, he took it in stride with a nod of his head and a shrug of his shoulders that didn't reveal the turmoil boiling in his gut like a frothing mess of anxiety.

"Alright, I feel like I've just been dragged into the principal's office." The man mused with his typical smirk as he entered the room, instantly taking note of the heavy air hanging around the three.

Pepper was currently sitting at her desk, elbows propped up and hands folded in front of her face, concealing any and all expressions from his line of sight. Rhodey stood up against the side of the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he simply stared down at the ground, face hard.

Tony ignored the itching burn beginning to spread over his skin at the notable tension as he took a seat, resting a cheek on his fist. "So what'd I do? Spray-paint a few lockers? Put some bugs in the teacher's desk? At least tell me it was yearbook-worthy."

Usually, the two would brush off the man's words and get right down to business, but this time Rhodes let a smile fall onto his face as a scoff flew out of his mouth, though something in Tony told him the man definitely wasn't laughing because he found it humorous.

Rhodey simply shook his head as his exasperated smile turned into a sigh. He raised his head and glanced over at Tony. "So...new intern, huh?"

The billionaire's fingers drummed against the chair armrest, a soft little noise that carried heavily in the otherwise silent room. He clicked his tongue before leaning back. "So that's what this is about? You all are still debating whether or not I'm crazy to take an intern? Gotta say, jury's still out. But my decision's pretty final at this point."

"Really? So you don't want to explain _how_ you met this particular kid, Tones? Cause something tells me you wouldn't just pluck up some random teen off of the street. Or am I simply believe that you just went to the closest high school you could find and picked the first face you saw?" He growled.

Tony could feel his hackles raising at the aggression in his friend's tone. He narrowed his eyes. "What's to explain? I met the kid through his application to the September Foundation. His file intrigued me. I went to see him. I liked what I saw so I offered him an internship. What more is there?" He growled out, nerves getting the better of him as his anger started to swell in response.

Rhodey either didn't pick up on the shift in tone or - what Tony more likely assumed - he simply didn't care, for he let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, you liked what you saw all right. But it didn't end with an internship did it, Tony?" He growled out, eyes narrowing as he stalked forward. "That kid never applied for a scholarship, did he?"

"Didn't you hear what I just sai-"

DON'T **BULLSHIT** ME, TONY!" Rhodes snarled, eyes flaring in fury for a moment as Tony quickly jumped up to his feet. The colonel glared at the man in front of him for a moment longer before he shut his eyes, allowing a calming breath to sweep through him as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Pepper, who has stayed silent throughout the ordeal, finally rose up from her chair. "Tony…" She called slowly, eyes hard and jaw clenched as she gazed back at the man.

Tony turned a solemn gaze to face her as Rhodey took a step back, arms crossing back over his chest. "We just need to know one thing," She said slowly, eyes never leaving the man's face. Finally, the words Tony had been dreading ever since he entered the room finally drifted into the air.

"Is he Spider-Man?"

Any other time, Tony would have simply barked out a laugh and quickly denied the statement. But the looks that were laying into him told him they already knew the answer. Lying to them would do him no good now, not that his lies ever usually fooled them.

"...yeah."

Pepper lowered her head and sat back down while Rhodey let out a sharp breath, slapping his arms down in frustration. "Jesus Christ, Tony. I-I...I just…" The colonel seemed to be at a loss for words as he ran a hand over his face. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"

"Long list. You got time?"

"You know...I've stuck by you on some stupid things, Tony. Some stupid, crazy, irresponsible things, but I think this takes the frikkin cake!" He shouted.

"How can you allow him to be...to be going off doing _who-knows-what_ all by himself?" He asked. "No! Even better! How could you possibly think it was okay to drag a _goddamn_ _ **baby**_ to Germany to fight Captain frikkin America?!"

The colonel began to pace back and forth. "I mean, you said he was young, but...but I- I never thought you would stoop so low as to drag innocent children into things that shouldn't concern them!" He snarled out, whipping back around to face the man.

Tony's face remained stoic as he watched his friend pace. He glanced down, watching his fingers tap against the side of his leg. "It wasn't ideal-"

"Ideal?! It's fucking criminal!"

"What did you want me to do?!" Tony shouted, fists clenching at his sides as he glared back at him. "You know how bad things were. We had to do something right then and there. We were severely lacking in numbers and time. It was either we did something or Ross was going to kill them." He folded his arms over his chest as he glared down at the ground. "So I made a choice."

"Yeah, a really stupid one."

"What's done is done, Rhodes!" Tony barked. "We can't go back in time and change anything, so we might as well just move on."

"Move on?" The colonel repeated. "Oh no. You do not just get to walk away from this scot-free without any consequences, Tony! I mean...did you even think of the ramifications, here? Of...of what would have happened if that kid had gotten hurt? Or worse?"

"He didn't."

"But he could have!"

"But he _didn't_!" Tony snarled, the ferocity behind the words making Rhodey and Pepper gaze up at him in slight surprise. The billionaire stared back at the two for a moment before the fire burning in his chest began to dwindle, leaving an uncomfortable itch that sat against his chest.

He let out a tired sigh as he shut his eyes, slowly falling back down into his seat. He propped his elbow upon his knee as he rested his forehead on his hand. "And I didn't drag him into anything...he was already in."

Rhodey and Pepper exchanged glances before the woman rose up from her seat, slowly walking over before kneeling down in front of the man. Tony's eyes blinked open before connecting with hers.

"Tony...you need to tell us the whole story."

He stared back at her, stared into those bright blue eyes that once made him feel so good. Now he had to turn away for fear of crumbling to bits under their sheer force.

"Kid popped up on my radar a few months back." He started softly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "There had been some videos and a couple sightings of a new hero around the city, so obviously I wanted to know about it."

He paused, glanced down at his hands. "Now, I don't know how this kid got his powers, but...they're impressive. He can do some pretty incredible things with them. Not only that, but he's smart as shit, too. Made his own tech with nothing but garbage he found in the dumpster." He muttered with a small shake of his head. "But, he was severely under-equipped. So...that's where I came in."

Rhodey regarded the man and his words for a moment. "He was doing this before you even came into the picture?" His voice was wary, still full of distrust. Tony pretended not to notice.

Instead, he nodded. "I knew the kid wasn't just going to stop doing it...not after I heard why he was doing it in the first place. So…" He paused to pinch at his eyes. "I upgraded his suit, and - despite my better judgment - I brought him to Germany to help us fight. I know it was stupid."

Rhodey's narrowed eyes stayed locked on the floor beneath them for a moment longer before he lifted his head, letting out a loud sigh. "Hate to admit it, but that kid really did help us out." He muttered.

Tony couldn't help but let out a scoff at that.

The colonel paused. "Well, wait. If there's one thing I remember about that Spider-Kid, it's that he never stopped talking. It was like...just...it was _insane_. Honestly, I don't know how I didn't pick up on the fact that he'd like, twelve"

"Fourteen."

"Whatever." He paused once more. "And...and that kid I just met...that kid out there...he was _nothing_ like that." Rhodey said , eyebrows furrowed. "I mean - hell, when I started talking to him, it was like he was about to burst into flames at any second. I have _never_ seen a kid look so scared of... _talking._ "

Tony tensed up at that, something both Pepper and Rhodey instantly picked up on.

"Tony..." Pepper called suspiciously, warning the man to not even _try_ to hide anything from them.

The billionaire kept his gaze focused on the ground as he debated whether or not to actually tell them the whole truth. After all, this was a pretty touchy subject.

The man thought back to Peter. Judging from how the teen usually acted, Tony doubted he wanted anybody knowing about his personal life. Though, he also hadn't wanted anybody to know he was Spider-Man and _welp_ …

But this… this was different.

On the scale of sensitive subjects, this was about as high as one could go. Tony didn't feel comfortable just _thinking_ about it. But actually talking about it...confronting it head-on...

That made it real. And if it was real, then it was just another thing for him to screw up.

"Hey..."

His eyes jerked upwards at Rhodey's voice, the man currently leaning closer to place a hand on his shoulder. "You okay? You're kinda spacing out."

Tony continued to gaze up at the man before his eyes flickered over to Pepper, who was currently giving him the same worried look.

It wasn't his place to speak about this. After all, Peter's private life was just that. _Private._

And yet, Tony couldn't help but long to throw the words out, to open his mouth and just spew out what had been plaguing his mind throughout the night, hang it on someone else's shoulders to bear.

Rhodey cocked a brow. "Does this have anything to do with why you offered the kid an internship? Seems more your style to just monitor him from afar or something."

Tony rubbed his neck anxiously. If there were any people he could talk to about this, it was the pair currently standing in front of him. He could count on them to keep this between the three of them while simultaneously creating an outlet for Tony to vent his frustrations to.

And if the past few hours were any indication, Tony was willing to bet he would encounter many new frustrations when it came to Peter Parker.

And yet...something held him back. Something made the man pause and rethink what he was about to do, a black seed of doubt that curled around his ribs.

A month ago, he never would have hesitated to tell Rhodey and Pepper something. Of course, he'd usually disguise it with thick layers of sarcasm and snark, but they usually uncovered the truth fairly easily.

They were the people he trusted with everything.

Then Siberia happened.

He glanced back up to meet the gazes of his friends once again. His head growled at him to swallow his fear and just spew whatever it was he wanted to say, but the phantom pain in his chest made him pause, a sharp pain, a _familiar_ pain. Like the feeling of a shield-

_No._

He trusted them.

He _had_ to trust them.

If he didn't...then he really did have no one.

Tony let out a sigh as he rubbed his eyes, reaching into his pocket. Rhodey and Pepper watched as the man pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before a projection appeared in front of them.

It showed a picture of a man with dark brown hair and matching cold eyes. He had a strong build and a handsome, charismatic face, even with the slight discoloration on his cheek. The skin around it was a nice olive tan, but the left side of his face was dotted with white spots, almost like healed chemical burns. They were almost unnoticeable from a distance. But up close, it was near impossible not to recognize him.

"I met his father," Tony growled.

Pepper's mouth fell open. "Richard Parker? _That's_ his son?!"

"Richard Parker?" Rhodey echoed, eyes widening. Anyone who worked at Stark Industries knew his name almost as well as they knew Norman Osborn's.

Pepper stared at the image for another moment before her gaze hardened, falling back onto Tony. "Oh, do not tell me you're only keeping this boy around simply to keep tabs on his father." She whispered darkly.

Tony glared up at her. "Of course not, Pepper! God, I couldn't care less about Parkstem!" He snarled, the notion she was implying wounding him much more than he let on.

"I…" He hesitated, wondering just how to explain everything that had happened. Honestly, he didn't even quite understand it himself yet.

"The kid lives with his father and… and his 'associates.' I...I don't know much but it's...it's strange," he ran a hand through his hair. "I was only in there for a short time and I could tell something was...off. _Wrong._ I...he was scared of something. And I think I have a pretty good guess of what it was."

He didn't need to say anymore. Understanding crept onto their faces like shadows along a wall.

Pepper took a breath, shutting her eyes as she gave a small shake of her head, carefully crossing her arms, as if she didn't know where to put them. "Did...did you see anything?" She whispered softly.

Tony glanced up at her for a moment before giving a shake of his head. "Nothing physical." He muttered, folding his arms. "But I saw enough to raise some flags. And now...now I don't know what do to with them, cause nobody else seems to have any."

Pepper drummed her fingers against her arm as she gave a slow nod. "Richard Parker is one of the most beloved men in the city."

Rhodey sighed and leaned against the desk. "Everyone's got something to hide."

The woman grunted and raised a hand to her head, brushing her fingers through her hair and pushing it out of her face as she turned back towards Tony. "This is...I...I don't know, Tony. Parker's a staple figurehead. And as far as I know, there's never been any public accusations made against him, at least nothing big enough to ripple any waves. Just..." she hesitated, face pinching slightly. "...are you sure?"

"No." His answer was instant. He _wasn't_ sure. The fact of the matter was that he _hadn't_ seen anything, nothing that could be construed as immediate danger, nothing concrete. He was just going off of gut feeling, a hunch more than anything. And recently, gut feelings had been getting him into more trouble than he cared to admit.

Still, there was just something... _different_ here. Some internal drive that left him feeling incredibly wary of that house, the same feeling he remembered from when he was young.

He had grown up with Howard Stark, after all.

"No, I didn't see anything. But I _did_ see a kid who could use some help. At least...you know, at least with his web-slinging side job. And I _do_ have some responsibility there, at least enough to offer what I can. A suit, some pointers, whatever. Enough to keep me from feeling guilty for giving a kid a multi-billion dollar suit as a play-thing." His quip fell flat. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to laugh.

"This is serious, Tony." Pepper said softly, letting out a deep breath.

The billionaire's shoulders jerked at his scoff. "Thanks for the news."

"What are our options here?" She ignored his snip and turned to Rhodey.

The colonel sighed as he shook his head. "Without hard evidence...nothing," he huffed. "Especially since we don't know for sure if something even _is_ happening. Besides, with someone like Richard Parker, we can't exactly start throwing around wild accusations."

Tony paused at the man's words, brows furrowing slightly. "What if...what if they weren't accusations? At least, not _blind_ ones."

"What're you talking about, man?"

"I mean...what if, err- why don't I just ask the kid straight out?"

Rhodey threw him an unsure look. "Doesn't really seem like something he'd be comfortable talking about. I mean, that kid doesn't seem comfortable talking about anything, really."

He rose up to his feet. "But we don't know that for sure." Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes, hoping the aura of distain he was presenting was strong enough to cover the lingering unease still churning in his stomach. "Look, I don't have time for guessing games anyway. I'm just gonna ask him straight out and demand a real answer here. Simple as that."

Pepper approached as he made for the door. "Tony. Hold on now."

He sidestepped her. "I'm not about to become some open-door shelter for every sob story in the city, alright? And I'm certainly not going to entertain the idea of beating around this bush." Tony didn't know what he'd been thinking. There was only one right thing to do here and it certainly wasn't to keep goofing off in his tower with some random kid. Giving him the suit upgrades had been one thing, but offering a full internship was taking things a step too far. He could see that now, could feel the assurances flooding his system as he strode across the room.

Pepper got in his way again, this time planting herself firmly between him and the door. He swallowed his annoyances and allowed her to speak. Her eyes narrowed and her voice was firm. "You'd better behave yourself, you understand? Don't you go and traumatize that boy just because you can't handle simple human decency. For once just pretend to have a semblance of empathy."

He threw her a tight smile and stepped around her once more before walking out the door, the two of them watching him leave with matching looks of hesitance and discomfort.

"Trust me, Pepper. If there's one thing I know, it's how to pretend."

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Lab 1**

**04:45 p.m.**

Of all the things Peter had imagined he would end up doing that day, exploring Tony Stark's personal lab definitely wasn't one of them.

For the first couple of minutes, the teen had only been able to stand there gaping as he tried to drink in every single thing he possibly could about the incredible lab.

The room was huge, extending out into a large open floorplan that sloped up into a staircase leading to a second level.

Around him numerous monitors and machines flashed and illuminated the already bright room in their own hues of light. In the center of the room stood a holo-table complete with projections and unfinished projects on the surface. Numerous metallic tables surrounded it, some holding small metal pieces and wires while others held parts as big as a car tire.

Farther in the back sat another arc energy tube similar to the ones down in the other labs, only there were multiple around the room and they were all much more slender, snaking along the walls like circuit lines and power wires.

But it was the numerous Iron Man suits on the second floor lining the walls that really made Peter drool for the longest duration of his awe-fest.

It had taken a _lot_ of mental slapping, but Peter had finally been able to snap out of his stupor, which is what found him sitting on the small couch that sat up against the wall of the first floor.

The teen's legs were folded underneath him as he merely continued to look around the room with a small grin still plastered on his face. The gentle humming of computers and the whirring of distant machines met Peter's ear in a gentle concoction of bliss as he let out a contented sigh, shutting his eyes as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

**_VRMMM!_ **

The teen yelped loudly at the startling noise, jerking his head up only to blink in surprise at the sight in front of him.

A large robot with a long metallic arm-like crane was currently sitting in front of him. The claw connected to the arm slowly stretched forward towards Peter's face, the teen leaning back slightly as the machine seemed to _'take him in',_ or whatever the robot version of that was.

After taking a moment to realize the robot meant no harm, the teen couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth. "Huh,...you're kind of cute." He uttered, pressing a hand against the cold metal of the robot. His eyes caught the large white letters printed onto the machine's side. "DUM-E, huh? Why do I feel like there's a story behind that?" He teased the machine, which simply let out another hum in response. He opened his claw and grabbed at Peter jacket, pulling the teen forward slightly before letting go.

The teen giggled. "What exactly are you anyway?"

" _That is DUM-E, Mr. Parker."_

Peter visibly jumped a few feet as FRIDAY spoke, his eyes darting nervously up towards the ceiling as she continued. _"Mr. Stark created said robot as well as others to function as assistants in and around the lab."_ She explained, DUM-E seeming to hum in confirmation.

The teen stared up at the ceiling for a moment longer before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Heh...umm thanks...FRIDAY."

_"You are quite welcome, Mr. Parker."_

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Umm...can...c-can you just call me Peter?" He asked hesitantly.

" _Of course, Peter._ " The voice replies cheerily.

The teen let a loose smile fall onto his face at the AI's relaxing voice, the tone relieving some of the tension in his shoulders.

"So...you're Mr. Stark's AI?"

" _That is_ c _orrect. I run the main parts of the tower and also act as an assistant to Mr. Stark during missions in his suits."_ She responded.

Peter nodded. "Cool." He called before the room settled into silence once more. For some reason, the feeling made the teen feel a little awkward as he coughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "S-so...do you... _like_...being an AI?"

. . .

. . .

_What?_

The teen's mental berating was cut off as the voice responded. _"I find it to be quite enjoyable."_

Peter coughed nervously once again. "R-right…" He breathed before letting out an annoyed groan. "God, Peter. You are so stupid." He muttered to himself, falling back down against the couch.

. . .

_"I do not think you are stupid, Peter."_

The words caught him off guard as he blinked in surprise. The teen slowly sat back up as he glanced at the ceiling, replaying the words over. Had he heard that correctly?

After almost ten years of constantly hearing such words on a loop, Peter had basically fallen into a routine of berating himself the same way, repeating the words he heard at home in his head over and over again. He didn't think much of it. It was just habit nowadays.

So safe to say, the AI's words caught him extremely off guard.

Peter felt a small smile fall onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Umm...thanks, FRIDAY."

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Stark Tower - en route to Private Lab 1**

**04:53 p.m.**

"He's _where?!"_

Tony's eyes were practically bulging out of his head as FRIDAY repeated what she had just said moments ago.

" _As I said before, Peter is currently in your worksh-"_

"Yeah, yeah! I heard you the first frikkin time, FRIDAY. But why the hell is he in there?" He shouted as the elevator moved underneath his feet.

_"You said to take him someplace private."_

"Yeah, I meant like an unoccupied room or something. Not my private lab."

_"Perhaps you should have been more specific."_

"Alright, I do not need any attitude from you, m'kay?" He muttered. If it was possible, Tony was sure the AI would have been smirking at him.

The billionaire was baffled. FRIDAY knew better than to allow strangers and newcomers into his private lab. Those rights were restricted to himself, Pepper and Rhodey, and even then he hated when they interrupted him in there.

 _Maybe she's malfunctioning_. He thought to himself, though something in the back of his head told him the AI was functioning perfectly fine.

The man let out a sigh as he felt the elevator slowing. "I swear, FRIDAY. If this kid's broken anything in there, I'm going to give you such a virus…" He voiced the threat, though he was sure the AI was practically rolling her nonexistent eyes at that.

The doors slid apart and Tony quickly stepped out, briskly walking down the short hall and into the open doorway of his lab.

Safe to say, he definitely didn't expect what he saw…

Peter was currently sitting crisscrossed on one of the many swivel chairs around the room, lazily spinning around slowly. Next to him stood DUM-E, who was currently humming loudly, something Tony found he only did whenever he was...happy? At least that's what he assumed.

Everything else around the lab was in the exact style of messiness he'd last left it in, not a single crumpled piece of paper out of place.

But that wasn't even the strangest thing. No...it was Peter himself, or more specifically, what the kid was doing at the moment.

"You know, your vocal processors are really super advanced. Though I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. After all, you were made by Tony Stark. You know, I've always wanted to build something like you. Well...I guess not _exactly_ like you. Probably more something along the lines of DUM-E, cause I mean, who wouldn't want their own little robot friend to hang out with? Of course, it's kind of hard to come by triple-wire electrical output sensors whenever you're digging through dumpsters. That's not usually the kind of thing people are messing with. Though I guess some people over at Oscorp probably use those kinds of things. Huh...you think Oscorp has any cool things in their dumpsters? I should really go and check those out sometimes. Maybe I'll even find some multi-repulsion circuits. That would be great."

He was...talking. A lot.

_"Your projects sound very interesting, Peter. I'm sure they will turn out wonderfully."_

"Thanks, FRIDAY. But I can't even begin to name all the projects I've had to scrap. I just don't have the tools to make anything out of them." He sighed before perking slightly. "But I have been able to make a few. You know, when I was ten, I built a little flying drone that could drop my garbage in the trash can without me having to get up." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I could probably update him to better suit my needs nowadays though."

The kid was so engrossed in speaking to the AI that he hadn't even noticed Tony's presence. The man opened his mouth to alert the kid but decided against it at the last minute. Maybe he could learn something from this little opportunity of his…

Peter pushed the ground gently with the tip of his foot, the chair sliding against the floor until he was up next to the arc energy tubes along the wall.

"You know, this is super awesome," Peter called up to the AI. "I've always wanted to learn more about Mr. Stark's arc reactor and the science behind it, but my dad's not too keen on letting me learn up about that kind of stuff." The teen murmured with a little shrug.

Tony cocked a brow at the boy's supposed interest. Arc reactor energy was still a new concept being passed around in the field, Not many kids his age were probably all that into it. Then again, most kids his age also weren't swinging around the city in the middle of the night, so Tony had to assume Peter was an outlier in more than just one sense of the word.

 _"Well, what can you infer about the reactor, then?"_ FRIDAY asked, the billionaire blinking in slight surprise before throwing a perplexed look up at the ceiling. Was FRIDAY... _egging him on?_

Peter furrowed his brow and scrunched his nose in a moment of thought before shrugging his shoulders. "Well from the little I have read on it, I know the original had a palladium core and that it's a sort of fusion reactor." He said before going back to slowly spinning in the chair, Tony quickly ducking back behind a large metallic suit piece set up on one of the tables as to not alert the kid of his presence.

"But the thing is, one of palladium's isotopes, Pd-107, produces silver when it undergoes beta decay." Peter pointed out. "So when the neutron becomes a proton, you get an electron remainder. But there shouldn't be an electrical current when the electron is released because it balances out the proton count between the palladium and silver." He announced as he continued to lazily spin. "So Mr. Stark would have had to come up with some kind of way to capture the electron that's released, which would generate that electrical current."

_"And how do you believe he did that?"_

Peter stared up at the ceiling for another moment, ceasing in his spinning motions as he thought. After another minute, he proceeded to spin once again, only in the opposite direction this time.

"I guess he found a way to utilize the beta decay of Pd-107 ions as an electron source for the electron capture of Pd-103, which would produce an electric circuit between two different radioactive isotopes. After that, the electron capture process would cause an influx of gamma waves to be emitted towards the center of the reactor, while high-energy electrons are emitted from the center out towards the rim. Because the electron-proton counterflow creates a deficit of electrons in the core, a massive electrostatic potential is developed and the palladium core attracts lower-energy electrons from the suits wiring. The ejection of electrons from the core produces an electrical cell capable of generating enormous voltage and current."

The teen paused, scrunching his nose. "Of course, that was before Mr. Stark took out his reactor..."

He began to spin once again.

"Anyway, that energy outflow could still be used, which is what he did." He murmured with a small tone of awe dripping through his words. "Basically, all you have to do is increase the size of the reactor itself and balance out the same ratio of electrons to protons to fit the new size and you're basically good to go." He explained.

"Then you can adapt that new energy to flow into the building's main generator, which can then be used to power up the rest of the building. Plus, assuming the tubing they used is able to reabsorb the excess electrical currents and shift them back down towards the core, that gets you a continuous renewable energy inflow going throughout the entire building." He finished, before pausing in his spinning once more. "At least, that's how I _think_ he did it. I'm probably way off base."

 _Jesus Christ._ Tony breathed as the kid finished up and began to ramble on about how FRIDAY compressed her systems to switch between the tower mainframes and the suits' systems.

Tony knew the kid was smart. He'd been able to develop his own designs for functioning web shooters but.. _.this_? This was ridiculous. Here he was, nonchalantly figuring out mechanics and procedures that not even the top scientists and engineers had been able to figure out, and that was _with_ the actual blueprints in front of them!

 _You're just full of surprises, aren't you?_ The billionaire breathed as he watched the kid laugh to himself, speaking freely to the AI. From what the teen had just been able to figure out, Tony wondered why Peter hadn't skipped a few grades, or hell, why he wasn't in college already just on his scientific knowledge _alone_. Although, the billionaire knew from experience that putting that much pressure on a fourteen-year-old wasn't always the best answer.

 _Does his dad know about this?_ He wondered to himself, curious as to just how smart Richard assumed his kid was.

Finally, after watching the teen continue to chat to the AI while teasingly poking at DUM-E, Tony grew restless of hiding and decided to make his presence known.

Stepping out from behind his hiding spot, he strode over towards the teen. "Hey, kid."

Peter let out a yelp and jerked backward, the chair skidding out from underneath him as he floundered to the floor. Tony blinked in shock as the teen quickly rushed up to his feet, nervous smile adorning his face as his cheeks blushed red, his hand rubbing at his neck. "Hehe...h-hey, Mr. Stark..." He mumbled out.

Tony resisted the urge to reply with a usual quip as he walked over. Peter lowered his gaze. "Umm...d-did...did everything go...okay?" He asked softly, Tony realizing with interest that the teen's stutter had returned.

He shrugged. "Yeah, nothing to worry about." He replied, Peter nodding his head as he folded his arms over his chest and looked away. Tony rested against the side of the nearest table as he glanced down at the schematics laid out around it. "Bit surprised to find you in here, though."

Peter furrowed his brows and gave a small tilt of his head before his posture suddenly grew tense and his eyes filled with a certain apprehension. "Am...um...a-am I not... _supposed_ to be in here?" His voice was small.

Tony stared back at him, the reply he'd been preparing seeming to die in his throat for some odd reason.

He didn't like people in his lab. Plain and simple. He didn't like people in _his_ lab. Nor did he have an issue letting that fact be known loud and clear to everyone and anyone who crossed his path. His lab was just that - _his_ lab. Not Pepper's, not Rhodey's, the one place he could claim as a shelter of sorts, the one place he knew he could relax and unwind with his inventions, his projects, his machines.

Peter _wasn't_ supposed to be there. That was fact.

So why couldn't he say so? Why was he having such a hard time letting that piece of information be known?

Peter was watching him with a new wary look in his eyes, shuffling on his feet and inching away bit by bit, rubbing the side of his arm with a tight, white-knuckle grip he tried to hide.

Tony knew that posture. He knew that body language. He knew it all too well.

_("Anthony, you get in that room and you wait for me to sort you out! Jesus Christ, you better pray I'm feeling a bit more forgiving before I get up there, you hear me?")_

Punishment. Peter was waiting for punishment, waiting for Tony to punish him.

He swallowed the sudden bile rising in his throat. He opened his mouth and the words he'd been forming changed as they passed his lips. "No. It's...it's fine, kid. I, uh...I told FRIDAY to bring you up here."

The change was instantaneous, the kid's muscles slipping out of their tenseness as his face relaxed and his smile hesitantly returned. "Oh. That's...t-that's good, or, uh...that's nice. T...thank you."

 _Jesus, Stark. What the hell are you doing here?_ Tony pushed the voice to the back of his mind as he approached the kid. Peter took a few steps back but didn't outright flinch away from him as the man stepped forward. Tony stopped next to him and placed his hands in his pockets, staring out over the lab as he took a deep breath, trying very hard not to spare the kid another look.

Being this close together, it was a bit easier to notice the faint scar running up the side of the kid's neck, mostly hidden by his hair but still present nonetheless.

 _Ask him. Ask him now and get it over with. That's why you're here. That's why_ he's _here. You need to ask him and then this whole shitshow will be over and he'll be out of your hair. Just ask him. Ask him now._

Tony paused for a moment before glancing down at the boy by his side. "You want me to show you around?"

Peter blinked before turning to look up at him, giving a little smile and a nod. Tony nodded in return.

"Super."

_Mistake. Another on the list._

**. . . . .**

"This is literally the _coolest_ place I have ever seen in my entire life..."

Tony couldn't hold back his snort as Peter's eyes practically dripped with starlight. The two of them were currently on the second floor of the extensive lab, leaning up against the metal railing that separated it from the small five-foot drop down to the first floor.

Throughout the duration of the tour, the teen's mouth had been hanging open, eyes in a constant state of shock as they explored. The first visual sweep he'd done the moment he'd entered had _nothing_ on this! Peter's elbows currently rested on the top bar of the metal railing, arms resting on top of the cool steel as he gazed out over the rest of the lab.

Tony walked over and stopped beside the boy, taking in the view for a moment as a small smile slipped onto his face as well.

**_THUNK!_ **

Both boys jumped at the loud noise. Whipping their heads down to peer over the railing, they both noticed DUM-E, who was currently bumping up against the small wall underneath them as he backed up and rammed it again and again, no particular purpose in sight.

Tony let out an irritated sigh as Peter chuckling next to him. "I swear that thing's basically an overgrown Roomba. Worse, actually, cause he doesn't even clean anything." He muttered while Peter continued to smile.

"Aw come on. He's cute." The boy chuckled as he continued to gaze down at the struggling robot.

The billionaire quirked an eyebrow at the teen. Usually, most people who met and had the displeasure of working with the robot were quick to voice their annoyances, as well as their desires to scrap the robot for parts. Tony, of course, would never allow it. Despite his scathing comments about the robot, he still considered it a close friend. Everyone knew he'd never get rid of it.

Still, that only made the fact that Peter enjoyed DUM-E's company all the more surprising, though Tony probably shouldn't have been. He'd only known Peter for a short time and most of those meets had been private, but the billionaire had a feeling the kid wasn't one to be mean.

Tony glanced down at DUM-E before gazing at Peter once again. He'd noticed the kid's speech had drastically improved as time had passed. Time to test it out even further.

"You know, I overheard you talking with FRIDAY on arc reactors." He began. "You interested in them?"

The teen's eyes lit up as he spun around, curls tossing around his forehead as they tickled his skin. "Yeah!" He breathed out. "It's only _the_ most successful example of renewable energy out there _today._ " He exclaimed with a smile. "I know a little bit about the science behind it, but I've always wanted to know more." He murmured wistfully.

Tony couldn't suppress a scoff. "A little? Kid, you know more than most of the smartest engineers out there," he said, Peter blushing as he ducked his head slightly.

"No, I don't. I just...you know...I...I just thought it was mostly common knowledge...you know? I mean..." He trailed off before giving Tony a shy, almost searching look."...really?"

Tony blinked at the hopeful tone in the teen's voice before giving the kid a smile. "Definitely. But there's still a bit I could teach you if you'd like." He teased, throwing the teen a knowing look.

As expected, Peter's eyes lit the room as he beamed. "Seriously?" He gasped out. "That's...I mean...I-I don't...and-" His tongue literally seemed to tie itself into a knot as he tried to speak. Tony, thankfully, cut him off before he could pass out. "Of course I will. Not every day I meet someone who's as interested as you in this type of stuff. Plus you're not a total pain to talk to so I might actually look forward to it."

Turning his gaze back towards the extensive lab, the teen chuckled softly. "Really, Mr. Stark..." He breathed out. "I'm pretty sure I've had dreams about this place. Like...my father's lab doesn't hold a _candle_ to this." He awed.

Tony's smile fell as Richard came to his mind. Instantly all of the distracting thoughts he'd been culminating while showing the kid around seemed to dissipate, allowing his brain to finally think clearly.

What the hell was he doing? Making plans with the kid? After today, he'd probably never see him again and that was how he liked it. All he had to do was get the information he needed and work from there. No distractions. No emotions getting in the way. No annoying teenagers adding more to his plate than he needed.

It was time to get this over with. He'd wasted enough time as it was.

. . .

So why did he suddenly feel so nervous?

"Hey, kid?"

The teen turned back towards him, his smile disappearing as he took in the sight of Tony's troubled face. "Y-yeah...?"

Tony struggled to suppress his groan of turmoil as he quickly took in the shift in moods. But he knew this needed to be done, _should_ have been done days ago. The man stared down at the boy for a moment longer before letting out a sigh of acceptance. _Time to get this over with._

"I know I asked this before, but I've come to notice I never really got a straight answer..." he began slowly, watching Peter's face for any signs at all. "So I'll ask again. Is everything alright at home?"

The teen let a smile fall onto his face once again as he let out a chuckle. "Yeah...yeah, everything's fine, Mr. Stark." He said with a grin. "I mean, it can get a little crowded at times, but it's mostly fine."

His voice was so steady, so calm, so... _unlike_ the Peter he'd known for the past few hours that Tony was almost convinced right then and there that maybe he had jumped to conclusions; maybe he'd been wrong. The words were spoken with such an air of confidence, such a tone of amusement that Tony really _could_ believe that Peter found it funny. He could believe that Richard was a modern-day businessman with a successful company that took up most of his time. He could believe that Peter needed some people at home to make up for the absence of his father. He could believe that Peter was simply a shy, soft-spoken boy; a shy, _clumsy_ , soft-spoken boy.

He maybe even _would_ have believed it...if not for the way Peter's hands had curled into tight, shaking fists almost completely hidden behind his leg.

Goddammit, he _wished_ he could believe it.

Tony's gaze hardened. "Don't lie to me, Peter. I want a straight answer." He said in a firmer tone. "I need to know if everything is alright."

Peter's smile was now faltering and he blinked up at the man in surprise, as if he was shocked he hadn't just let it go and accepted his first answer. Honestly, Tony was just as shocked.

"I...I umm..." He stuttered out, hands fisting the denim of his jeans. "...why wouldn't I be?"

Tony took in the sight of the teen, noticing how his hands were beginning to tremble. He suppressed the urge to sigh. He should have guessed this wouldn't be easy. Well, he wasn't about to drop it now, and he certainly wasn't about to play any games.

"Stop toying with me, Peter." The man said tersely, a certain firmness slipping into his tone against his better judgement. "I need to know the truth. I need to know if you're alright." He continued as he took a step forward, noting how Peter, in response, stumbled backwards. "I...I-I'm fine."

"I don't think you are."

"Well, I am! I...I-I..." Peter could feel himself choking on the words as he always did whenever he got flustered. As usual, it only aggravated him even more, which made the stutter worse.

"Peter..." Tony called, taking another step forward. "I need you to trust me, kid. If you're in trouble, I can help you. I can protect you. But I can only do that if you tell me what's going on."

"N-nothing's going...on. I..I-I..." He struggled to take in another breath. The man moved closer as Peter's hands wrapped around his arms, fingers gripping the limbs so tightly that Tony was sure it would bruise almost immediately. "Kid...are you afraid of someone in that house?"

"N...no...no, I'm..."

"Peter...are they hurting you?"

"Stop."

"Is your father hurting you?"

_"Stop."_

" _Is he?"_

" **NO!** " the teen roared, fists shooting down to his sides as he screamed. Tony actually found himself rearing back at the sudden explosion. "No! He's not! He's a good man. He's a good father. He would _never_ do anything to hurt me! They're not doing anything to me. _He's_ not doing anything to me. He loves me! He would _never_. How dare you accuse him of that? _How fucking **dare** you say that?!"_ Peter's eyes gleamed as he took a threatening step forward, face flushed. "You don't know him. You don't know me. You don't know _anything_ about our family, so don't pretend that you do, alright? Because we're fine. _I'm_ fine!"

Tony's felt his back hit the railing as Peter leaned closer, fists shaking by his sides. "He's not a bad guy. He's not a bad person. He only ever wants what's best for me. He takes care of me, takes care of us, our family. He loves me. I love him and...and he loves me, alright? He loves me!"

The teen held the man's gaze with a burning glare of his own before his head whipped away and he took a few steps back, chest heaving slightly as he glared viciously at the ground, hands continuing to tremble against his legs. The billionaire continued to stare back in shock. He knew the teen might respond poorly, but he never thought he'd get so...angry. But at the moment, Peter looked like he wanted to throw something...particularly, something _heavy_. It was unnerving, seeing such a foreign emotion as rage in Peter's eyes.

After a moment of harsh, ragged breathing, Peter shook his head and glared at the man before him, gritting his teeth. "Believe whatever the _fuck_ you want, but my dad...my dad's not a bad guy, alright?" The kid fully turned away at that, bringing his arms to wrap tightly around himself. "He's not a bad guy. He's...he's not a bad guy, okay? He's...not the bad guy..." his voice trailed off into little more than soft whispers at he slowly sat down on one of the work stools near the railing, the venom he'd been spewing seeming to dissipate from his voice fairly quickly, replaced by a sudden resignation, a tired ache that left his words hollow and empty.

Tony took a breath, took two, and when he found it still wasn't enough to satiate the burning in his chest, he took a few more. He flexed his fingers against the sides of his legs, the tips hot and numb against his palms. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, any noise to clear the air wavering in thick tension, but found he had nothing to say. What _could_ you say after that? Was there anything? Anything that could be said to solve something like this? Some magic words to fix everything, make the issues float up and disappear? There had to be.

But Tony didn't know them.

What he _did_ know, however, was that his situation had just become a lot more complicated.

There was no denying what was right in front of his face, not now, not anymore. Peter's denials had, ironically, been exactly what he needed to confirm it. There was obviously something going on in that house that had Peter afraid and whatever it was, Tony knew it wasn't something simple words were going to fix. He couldn't just throw money at this either. This was a real, actual problem. And this kid right in front of him was at the root of it all.

Tony let out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck. Nothing he could say would make this all better. Nothing he could quip or snark about would make this kid feel better...so he'd have to try something else.

Peter's body visibly tensed as Tony stooped down and took a seat on the floor next to the stool, next to the kid. But he didn't shout again. Instead, his lowered head cast a tired, weary glance his way, eyes dull.

The billionaire tapped his fingers against his knee, waited for Peter to say something. The boy drifted his gaze away from him and stared down at the floor below him, hands clasped before him as his elbows rested on his knees. "I can leave...if you want me to." His voice was small, just like his form, hunched and defensive in his seat.

Tony didn't look at him, just rested the back of his head against the railing behind him. "I don't want you to leave." Shockingly, it was the truth. "I'm not mad, you know…"

"You should be."

"Why? Cause you called me out? You had the right idea."

"I spoke out of turn."

"Kid, I'm not some tyrannical dictator here. You have the freedom to speak."

Perhaps not all that surprising anymore, Peter didn't say anything else, just kept his head down and his eyes on the floor. Tony licked his lips and let out a little sigh. "I believe you. If you...if you say nothing's going on, then...then I believe you."

No response. No movement. Tony felt his skin prickling with nerves.

"Pete...kid, look at me."

Still no response. Not even a twitch of the fingers or a tilt of the head.

The man sat up a bit and turned to fully face the kid. "Come on, now. It's alright. Why don't, uh...why don't we just put this behind us and get back to where we were before, huh? We can just forget about the whole thing."

Tony watched the teen's fingers slowly curling together and for a moment, he thought the boy might speak. But Peter's head still refused to turn, his eyes refused to lift. He remained silent.

The man sighed and turned away with a tight expression, feeling a bubble of frustration welling up inside of him. He had no idea how to handle this, no idea how to even _attempt_ it. How was he supposed to get the truth out of this kid if he couldn't even get him to look him in the eyes?

His eyes trailed around the lab, mind briefly wondering how he'd even gotten here, sitting up here begging with some kid rather than tinkering away all by himself in his lab, surrounded by peace and quiet and the occasional disturbance from his skillfully-challenged robot.

His eyes caught sight of the machine over in the corner of the lab and slowly Tony sat back up again. He blinked, mind whirring. An idea, small and uncertain, flickered into thought. But maybe...

. . .

"Everyone always asks why I keep him."

Peter, for a moment, didn't even seem like he'd heard Tony speak. But after a second, the boy sighed, shut his eyes and lifted a hand to rub at his neck. "...what?" He asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. He still didn't lift his head or his eyes.

Tony gestured over at DUM-E. The robot was currently working on picking up a coffee mug that had last been left on one of the tables. He was quick to run into the corner of the table and knock the mug down, running over the shattered pieces of it as well just for good measure.

Peter glanced over at the robot with a cocked brow. "With all the accidents he causes, all the miscalculations he makes and just the sheer annoyance of him alone makes him a worthy candidate for the trash-heap or the local college." He muttered, waving his hand dismissively in the air. "At this point, most people just consider him a waste of space."

Peter lowered his head once more, fingers curling tighter into a singular fist. "Why don't you then?" He muttered bitterly.

"Cause that's not how I see him."

The teen furrowed his brows slightly but still kept his gaze down.

Tony continued. "I made DUM-E when I was just a kid. Back then, he was considered a marvel, especially considering I'd been so young when he'd first been built. He helped me work down in my father's labs and became almost like...a friend. " He murmured out.

"As time went on, technology advanced and machines became bigger, faster, smarter... DUM-E couldn't really keep up anymore, you know? Nowadays, people are always bugging me to get rid of him. To just toss him out or upgrade his circuitry and wiring. But...I already know I'll never do that."

Peter listened in silence, foot tapping against the floor as the man spoke.

"DUM-E was always there for me when I needed him, so who am I to not do the same for him? I mean, just because everyone else sees him as...a nuisance, or a waste of space, or just a lost cause...doesn't mean I have to see him like that as well." He smiled down at the teen by his shoulder. "I'm never going to give up on him."

Peter took in the man's words carefully, chest twinging strangely at them for reasons he did not know. After a moment, the teen let a soft smile form on his face. "I like DUM-E."

Tony smiled beside him. "Yeah...I think he likes you too." He answered. "He hasn't run over your foot yet, so that's usually a good sign." He muttered, smile increasing as he heard Peter huff out a laugh beside him.

The teen blinked at the floor, eyes seeming to trace over the etched tiling, following the grooves with his gaze. He blew out a little breath, fingers twitching. "Mr. Stark?"

"Hmm?"

"...Why did you become Iron Man?"

Peter looked up as he spoke, eyes finally meeting Tony's with a look of pure sincerity, of longing and questioning and a million different emotions the man couldn't even begin to understand.

Tony paused at that, paused at the sight, paused at the question, though it wasn't new. It had been asked of him nearly a million times. Every press conference, every meet and greet, there always seemed to be somebody who wanted to know why he did it. This shouldn't have been any different.

However, there was something that made him hesitate. Something in Peter's voice, something that wasn't present in the voices of everyone else who had ever asked the question. This wasn't the voice of some sleazy reporter who wanted to see who could get the biggest scoop on Tony Stark. This wasn't the voice of some obsessed groupie who simply wanted to claim they knew more about their idol than anybody else.

No...this was the voice of someone genuinely curious, someone who was actually slightly afraid of the answer they'd receive.

This was the voice of someone who wanted confirmation on whether or not being a hero was actually _worth_ it.

Tony paused for a moment before lifting up his hand and pulling his tie off of his neck, tossing it down towards the floor. "You know I was a weapons manufacturer before all of this, right? Before Stark Industries got into renewable energy?"

Peter nodded his head as Tony had assumed he would. "Well, when I got back from Afghanistan after being in captivity for three months - you know about that too, right? Good, anyway, when I got back, I discovered that my weapons were being dealt under the table to war activists and third-world terror parties. It was then that I realized I could do so much more than just create weapons of destruction. I...I could help people...in ways my weapons never could. I could...become something more than just another billionaire making money off of the suffering of others."

He passed before turning towards Peter. "I had the power to do something more - help people. So I guess the better question is: Why _wouldn't_ I become Iron Man?"

Peter stared at the man for a moment longer before turning his gaze back down to the ground, nose scrunching slightly in thought. After a moment, the teen couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of his mouth, Tony turning to look at him at this.

"You know...everyone always says that you're just a stuck-up, arrogant prick who doesn't really care about anything else other than money and business-"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, kid."

"-but I knew you were my favorite Avenger for a reason."

Tony froze before glancing over at Peter, who was smiling warmly at him. His fingers weren't twitching anymore. His body wasn't shivering.

His eyes were staring right back at him.

"You're not what everyone says you are. And...and I know I haven't known you for very long so I really have no right to be saying stuff like this, but...you're way better than what I was expecting, too. And I guess that's saying something…" His eyes seemed to shine even brighter than before. "...cause you were already pretty great to me."

Tony simply stared back at the teen, at a loss for words for around the fifth time that day, something the teen seemed notorious for.

Before either of them could say anything else, a small knock over by the door alerted them to another presence. Turning around, they noticed Happy standing in the doorway. "Hey...if you don't want the kid to be late, I suggest we leave now." He called in.

Tony glanced down at his watch and grimaced at how late it actually was. _Damn...when did that happen?_ "Uh...right." He said before turning quickly rising to his feet, reaching down to help Peter up.

The teen's face had dimmed considerably, his face twisting into a look of slight pain as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He jumped slightly as Tony bumped him in the shoulder, a gentle tap that caught his attention.

"Hey…" The man called, hesitating for a moment. He felt his fingers beginning to curl in his pocket, felt them twitching against the fabric, but he kept his face calm even as the words in his throat left him feeling breathless and unsure.

They still had to be said. He knew that now.

"I'll see you Wednesday, alright?"

The words seemed to make Peter happier as he perked up slightly, a small smile forming on his face. He gave a small nod of his head adjusted the straps on his backpack before ducking out the door, Happy following after him.

**. . . . .**

Tony watched through the window with a look of unease as the car pulled away from the building and drove out onto the street. His gaze followed the car for as long as possible before it disappeared, a small sigh fluttering from his lips as he shut his eyes.

"I'm taking it things didn't go too well…"

The billionaire let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah…let's just say things went a little south of _'well'_ ". He muttered out before turning around, meeting the concerned gazes of Pepper and Rhodey. "Is this going to be our new unofficial-official club hideout or something?" He smirked, gazing around Pepper's office. "Should we get matching capes?"

Rhodey rolled his eyes but held back a biting retort. He knew the man was upset, hence the excess sarcasm. Thankfully, he was fluent in the language of Tony.

"What happened?" Pepper asked softly as Tony took a seat.

The man stayed silent for a moment before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "In hindsight, I probably should have expected him to resist what I was saying, but I didn't really think he'd freak out like he did and-"

"Whoa, whoa! He freaked out?" Rhodey repeated, a new sense of unease returning to his stomach. That was _not_ a good sign.

"Yep. I've literally never seen him get so mad before...granted, I've never really seen him do anything before." He muttered before letting out a growl. "That's the problem, right there."

"What?" Pepper asked, furrowing her brow.

"We don't know anything about this kid. _I_ don't know anything about this kid. I mean...of course he wasn't going to tell me anything. Why would he ever trust me? He doesn't even _know_ me!" He shouted out angrily.

His eyes softened slightly as he came to remember something. "H...He doesn't trust me...but for some reason...he...looks up to me." He murmured out softly, remembering the look on Peter's face, the light in his eyes when they'd spoken.

Tony let out a sigh and rested an elbow on his knee, propping his chin up with his fist. Rhodey rubbed at his eyes before turning back towards the others. "Look...the only way we can help this kid is if we get his cooperation. We need him to tell us straightforward that something's wrong, otherwise, we got nothing." He took a breath. "Maybe you can try again. Or...maybe one of us can try and-"

Tony shook his head, remembering the desperation hidden behind the anger in Peter's eyes during their argument. "He's not gonna spill, Rhodes. You didn't see him. He wasn't just being stubborn. He...he wasn't just being abrasive. He was furious. He...he was...terrified."

Pepper stepped forward. "Well..is there any way we can gather some evidence ourselves and-"

"No," Tony growled out. "Anything we find out, Peter is sure to just deny. And if we do get the police involved and it turns out they can't do anything…" He paused. "I don't know what they'd do to the kid." He murmured out darkly.

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged nervous glances.

"No. Peter is the key to all of this. The only way we can do this is if the kid helps us do it." He explained.

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but how? You said it yourself this kid isn't going to spill. So what's going to change his mind?"

Tony shook his head and shut his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His mind wandered back over his conversation with Peter, right after their fight. He'd somehow managed to calm the boy down, even got him to open up just a little bit. He seemed to be able to do that by talking quietly and even exchanging a few jokes.

 _Yeah, but that isn't enough…_ He growled to himself. He needed the teen to explain _everything_.

He needed something bigger.

His eyes shot open as he instantly straightened up in the chair, Pepper and Rhodey jumping slightly at the rushed movement. "Me." He whispered out, a small smile falling onto his face.

"What?" Rhodey asked, only to jump once again as Tony rushed up to his feet. "Think about it. Earlier today, that kid would barely even utter a single word, but right before he left, his stutter was gone, he wasn't shaking and he was looking me right in the eyes."

"Okay, so…" Pepper urged him to continue.

"So...if I can get him to relax that much after only a few hours with him, imagine what it'll be like after a few-."

"Months, man," Rhodey said soberly. "A few _months._ Rapport isn't built so easily, especially for something like this." The Colonel slowly furrowed his brows, arms folding over his chest. "This isn't just a little thing that can be fixed on a whim, now. This is a serious issue that needs serious attention. Are you really willing to give it that? Cause if not, then don't even bother keeping the kid around, you'll only confuse him.

Tony paused at that, turning his head away slightly as his eyes trailed to the ground in thought. His friend's lack of faith, while slightly painful wasn't all that unjustified. He wasn't known to be the most reliable, even for important things. More often than not, his priorities were just that, _his,_ nobody else's. And with something like this, he knew he couldn't afford to mess around, couldn't afford any mistakes, not when the stakes were this high.

Could he really trust himself with this?

Pepper stepped forward after a few more moments of his silence. "Tony."

He turned to her.

"Are you willing to do this? We need an answer now."

He flexed his fingers, felt his knuckles popping. He had to do this. He had to prove it to himself. He was Iron Man for a reason. Steve couldn't take that away from him.

Tony paused for a moment before turning to stare back at the pair. A simple silent nod said more than any words could.

Rhodey nodded as well. "Alright, new plan: earn the kid's trust..." He paused. "And just how are you going to do that?"

The billionaire stared at them for a moment before turning away, glancing back over towards the window. "I don't know." He finally said. "We'll just have to take this one step at a time."

Tony stared down at the city below them, eyes trailing over the area where he knew Queens was located. Now that the sun had gone down, it was obvious where the rundown low-level area was, considering how dark it was compared to the other numerous lights surrounding it.

And somehow, despite looking out over that very same view countless other times, the city just felt...bigger, heavier. He could feel it staring back at him, cold and unwavering. It made his heart beat softly in his ears, echoing around his head in a tuneless melody. He took a breath, took a few more after that.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

* * *

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Parker Residence -** **Driveway**

**07:21 p.m.**

"Um...bye, Happy."

The man grunted before rolling his window back up and pulling away from the curb, disappearing down the road. The teen gripped the strap of his backpack tightly as he took a deep breath and turned around, taking in the dreaded sight of his house.

Now that it was nighttime, the building seemed to loom even more ominously, waiting to swallow up another victim in its open maw, dragging them in before consuming them completely, never to spit them back out again.

Ignoring the usual shudders that racked his small frame whenever he'd approach his house, Peter let out a sigh and began to trek over, only to pause as he heard the sound of an opening door. To his relief, the sound didn't come from his own house, but the one across the street.

While the houses on his street were all high-end and expensive, the houses on the neighboring streets and the surrounding neighborhoods were anything but. Usually, they were nothing more than small apartments and rundown tenements.

Peter would usually pay no mind to the neighbors, who were all-too-happy to turn a blind eye whenever the situation called for it.

However, there was one exception.

"Peter!"

The teen felt a grin split his face as an older woman in her early to mid-thirties began the descent down her apartment stairs, grasping a large garbage bag in her hand. She had dark brown hair that stretched down to her shoulders, large, round, aqua glasses, and a warm smile.

Peter walked over with a grin. "Hey, May."

May Brenner had been living across the street from him for as long as he could remember. The woman had always been a warm, kindly soul, always ready to give a smile or hug.

The woman tossed the trash into the bin and walked over, wrapping her arms around the teen - as she always did. Peter tensed slightly at the touch merely out of reflex, but May was used to the reaction.

"How are you, sweetie?" She asked kindly, to which Peter shrugged. "I'm good. How 'bout you? You doing okay?"

May took a moment to take a deep breath, face going thoughtful for a moment before she gave a small nod. "Can't really complain."

Peter gave a small smile at that but didn't press it.

They both were avoiding it.

Neither of them really wanted to talk about it anyway. Peter didn't even like _thinking_ about him nowadays. (It was just easier to avoid thinking about why May now lived by herself.)

"That's good." The teen said gently, to which May gave a nod of her own. "Speaking of good, whose car was that you just stepped out of? I've never seen that one around here before." She asked with a tilt of her head.

Peter let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that was one of Tony Stark's private cars. I'm interning over at Stark Industries now."

May's eyes widened and a smile split her face. "That's wonderful, Pete!" She beamed, dragging the kid into another hug, to which Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

Pulling away, the woman placed her hands on the teen's shoulders. "Stark Industries, huh? Pretty impressive, baby. Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always were a smart one." She chuckled, gently elbowing the teen.

Peter felt a light blush fade onto his cheeks. "I...I mean I guess..."

"Oh, don't be so modest." She smiled, the look falling after a moment of consideration. "Though I am surprised at your choice. I would have Parkstem Labs would be a more... _mandatory_ choice for you." She muttered darkly, glaring across the street at his house.

Another thing about May: she had always been very observant.

Peter's face grew uneasy as he gave a small shrug. "Yeah...I thought so too. Guess Dad had other plans…" He murmured quietly. "I...I should really get home.

May gave the boy a sympathetic look and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Alright, Pete. I'll try and bring you back some leftovers from the diner tomorrow, kay? Just...promise you'll be careful, alright?"

Peter ignored her question as he pulled away. "Bye, May."

The woman watched him go sadly before turning back up her stairs, giving the teen one last parting look before heading back inside.

Peter slowly trudged up the stairs to his own house, slowly pulling his keys out from his pockets, the jingling sound grating painfully through his ears as his hand shook.

Trembling fingers fought to push the key into the lock before they finally hit home, sliding into place before the sound of clicking locks snapped in his head. The harsh sounds made him wince as he grasped the handle and slowly pushed the door open.

He was met with total darkness, the sight making him furrow his brow in confusion. _They are home...aren't they?_ He wondered to himself as he slowly stepped inside. His muscles coiled in tension as he tried to make out any movement in the darkness, but found he couldn't see anything.

Unease began to fill his gut as he slowly began to feel his way along the wall, hoping to gasp onto the light switch. As he searched, a loud scraping met his ears, making him freeze in place. "Hello?" He called out, whipping his head behind him as he struggled to find the light.

His question was met with a series of small bumps and bangs sounding out around him. "Flint?" He called hesitantly. "C-Curt? Sandra?"

As another bout of silence met his ears, Peter narrowed his eyes. Maybe this was just the opportunity he needed. Gripping the strap on his backpack even tighter, the teen ducked his head and quickly began to make his way over towards the elevator, carefully trying to remember the placement of the furniture as to not trip.

Suddenly, he felt a tingling sensation shoot down his spine. But before he could even _try_ to figure out what it meant, he felt a mountain of water come crashing down over his head as something metallic and hard slammed into his temple. A shout of pain fell from his lips as he slipped on the wet floor, crashing down to the ground, landing painfully on his wrist.

Before he could even begin to try and understand what had just happened, loud laughter filled his ears as the lights came flooding on. He winced at the harsh change in lighting before blinking open his eyes.

Flint and Sandra were currently standing above him, faces adorning scornful looks as they laughed. The strong stench of alcohol wafted off of them in waves. Peter himself was now drenched from head to toe in water, the liquid spreading out around the wooden floor. Next to him, a metal bucket sat at his feet.

"Welcome home, Pete!" Sandra beamed, harshly patting the teen on the head. Peter winced as she slammed her palm into his now-throbbing temple, which now had a small trickle of blood trailing down. The teen hissed in pain as he felt more water trickle into the cut. Gazing down at the puddle underneath him, the teen realized there were little flecks of soap in it.

"What the-?"

"You know, we realized something while you were gone. Who's gonna do the chores around here now that you got your fancy internship, huh? Us?" Flint slurred, words tumbling into one another as he kicked the bucket. The metal container slammed into Peter's side, the teen grunting at the blow, but otherwise remaining silent.

"Jesus, I didn't think you two were actually serious."

Peter turned at the new voice, catching sight of Curt coming around the corner. He gazed at the scene in mild contempt, metallic fingers clicking together. The sound rang in Peter's ears, a harsh noise that made him want to curl his hands over his ears. The man cocked a brow. "How drunk are you two anyway?"

Sandra scoffed before flipping him off, the man throwing her a toothy grin before leaning up against the bar, prosthetic continuing to click as he watched. Click... _click._

"I don't like this internship," Flint growled, reaching a hand up to scratch at his jaw. "Seems like a waste of time. Besides, I like having him around." He turned his gaze to Peter. "What are we supposed to do now if we get bored?"

_Click._

Peter slowly began to crawl to his feet. "I have homework to do." He lied as he rose up The teen tried to make his way over to the elevator without being seen, only for Sandra to grab his sore arm and yank him back, Peter yelping in pain.

"I don't think so, honey!" She called before narrowing her eyes, tossing the teen back into the soapy, watery mess at their feet. "Thanks to the bad mood your little escapades put us all in, I'd say you owe us something."

Peter stared down at the ground, fists trembling as his hair fell down around his eyes.

"So...since we're all so antsy, maybe we should play a couple games, huh? Might do us all some good."

_Click. Click._

"What do you say, hon? We'll even let you pick!" She grinned down as Flint approached, stretching out his hand to grab his arms, only for a lone voice to cut through the chatter.

"Enough." Max called with a huff as he entered the room As usual, his button-down shirt was barely even buttoned at all, save for the few at the bottom, revealing a black toned chest underneath. The man was currently holding a glass of scotch, which made Peter guess the man had been talking with his father...wherever he was.

Out of all the Cons, Max was the one Richard seemed to trust the most.

Sandra clicked her tongue. "Come on, Max. Little son of a bitch deserves it after the shit day we had." She grabbed the man's shoulder, fluttering her eyes. "You know you want to." She said in a sultry voice.

Max, however, didn't fall prey to the trap so many had fallen into as he rolled his eyes and pushed her away. "Shut up, Sandra. You're drunk," he muttered, the woman pouting at his dismissal.

Peter, however, decided now as probably the best time to make his escape as he began to slid past them. "I'm going upstairs," he whispered quietly, not bothering to wait for a response as he kept walking.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt and throw him backward. "Where the _hell_ do you think you're going?" Max snarled as Peter stumbled back into place. "Did I _say_ you could leave?" He growled out, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the teen.

_Click. Click. Click._

Peter felt his chest begin to heave slightly as Max let out a growl. "You know, I told him this internship was a bad idea." He muttered as he stalked closer. "All it's going to do is confuse you, and Lord knows it doesn't take much to do that." Peter flinched as the man smacked his chest with the back of his hand. His shaking hands slowly began to clench into fists.

"Well don't let this little romp with Tony fuckin' Stark get your head all in a twist, alright? Just cause that asshole is wasting his time with you doesn't mean you get to forget all of our rules, got it?" He snarled darkly, the other Cons moving closer.

Peter felt his teeth grinding together as a new foreign emotion began to bubble up in his chest. Usually, their words never phased him as much, not anymore at least, He'd gotten used to the harsh insults and dangerous threats. But today...something was different.

Maybe it was the fact he'd gotten a taste of respect today. Maybe it was Mr. Stark's words echoing through his mind, reassuring him that everything was okay. But whatever it was...he was tired of this.

"Do you even _remember_ the rules? Must be hard with all the shit running through your system." Peter muttered as he glared defiantly at the ground.

. . .

" _What_?"

_Click. Click._

Peter continued to glare for a moment longer before he seemed to blink back into reality, his words instantly flickering back. _Oh, shit._

"Did you just get smart with me?!" Max shouted, stalking forward. "I think he just sassed me." He turned towards the others.

"He definitely just sassed you." Sandra muttered with a grim smile as the other boys moved towards Peter, placing strong hands on his shoulders.

The dark-skinned man pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he grinned. "Heh...alright, alright…" He murmured softly, glancing down at the glass still in his hand.

Suddenly, his hand flew up as he reared his arm back, chuckling the glass as hard as he could. With the Cons restricting his arms, Peter could do little more than turn his head to the side as the glass slammed into him, shattering into a million different pieces.

He shouted in pain and dropped to the floor, warm liquid dripping down the various cuts now spread out across his face. "What the hell is the matter with you?!" Peter shouted out before he could think better of it.

He suddenly felt the breath leave his body as a foot met his gut. He grunted and fell back to the floor. Another kick sent him sprawling onto his back. He grunted in pain as a heavy boot fell onto his chest "G...g-get off!" The teen groaned in pain as he felt his ribs protesting angrily at the added weight, hands scrabbling against the shoe.

Max suddenly crouched down over him, placing a meaty hand around his throat as he pressed his head into the floor.

Peter turned his head to the side and gasped at the pressure around his neck, Max glaring darkly at him as he reached one hand behind him in an expectant gesture.

Curt grinned as he handed the man his knife.

_Click. Click. Click._

Peter gazed wildly around the room as he fought to pry the man's hands off of his neck, his eyes rising up to meet the man's gaze as alarm bells exploded in his head, the scent of alcohol heavy on the man's breath. Max blinked in shock at the teen's stare before his lips parted in a snarl.

Peter gasped in pain as he felt the knife slash at the skin underneath his eye. Max leaned closer, squeezing his throat even tighter than before. "Did you just fucking _look_ at me?" He growled darkly before slashing Peter again.

"Don't you ** _ever_** fucking look at me, you piece of shit!" He roared, banging Peter's head against the ground. The teen gasped as he fought to blink back stars and dark spots. Suddenly Max's face was in his vision again.

"You listen, and you listen good you little bitch." He snarled. "Don't let this Stark guy get in your head, alright? Cause no matter what he says, no matter what you do...you will always be _nothing_." He snarled. "You're a waste of space. Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with, alright? You aren't worth shit."

He leaned down closer, his lips just above Peter's ears. "And you will _always_ belong to us."

Peter gasped for breath as Max finally released his hold on his neck. Quickly sitting up, the teen wrapped his hands around his now bruised and bloody neck as he coughed and hacked for air that could not fill his lungs fast enough. He could feel blood dripping down his face, mingling with the tears that had begun to stream down his cheeks.

"Come on," Max growled out, wiping the knife clean before handing it back to Curt. "Your father's waiting down in the lab. And I'm sure he'll have much more to say than I do." He grinned.

Peter stared at the floor for a moment longer before numbly rising up to his feet. Shakily wrapping his arms around himself as he tucked his chin against his chest, he slowly began to follow the Cons to the elevator

He couldn't feel his arm move, but he watched as it wiped at his face, blood smearing against his jacket sleeve. As it moved against his face, the sleeve was pushed up slightly, revealing the bruises on his arms, which were barely even noticeable anymore.

Peter didn't even bother to curse his accelerated healing anymore as he rolled his sleeve back down. Nobody listened to him. And even if they did, it's not like he could ever tell them.

He could _never_ tell them.

He couldn't even _look_ at them.

_Click. Click._

* * *

_3) I Will Never_ _**EVER** _ _make eye contact. . . . with anybody but Tony Stark._


	5. Night Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go to work.

**Monday - March 7, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**11:34 p.m.**

The sound of his door slamming shut behind him echoed out around the darkened room, mingling with the sound of Peter's harsh, ragged breathing. The teen pressed his back against the solid wood and shut his eyes tightly, willing his heart to stop pounding as his body shook.

After a moment of tense silence, Peter slowly felt his lungs unclench, his chest evenly expanding in and out once again. The teen let out a small sigh and pressed his hands against his face, wincing as his palms brushed up against the numerous bruises and scratched now marring the pale surface.

 _At least they were quick tonight._ The boy murmured to himself, though that didn't change the fact that the tests had, in turn, been that much more excruciating. The teen simply tried to shrug off the fact as best he could.

He was used to it by now.

Gingerly wiping the blood off of his face and arms, Peter glanced over at his bedside table, the digital clock on the table telling him it was _finally_ time to get the hell out of there. Letting a smile fall onto his face, the teen rushed over to his bed and undid the small side panel on his headboard.

Reaching inside, his fingers wrapped around the smooth, strong fabric of his suit. Pulling out the uniform, Peter paused for a moment and stared at the vivid red and blue design. The bright red contrasted the dark blue perfectly, the sleek black lines stretching out around the entire piece tying the two together. He ran his finger against the smooth eyepieces, blinking down in awe at the suit in his hands.

The fact still amazed him that this incredible suit was actually _his._ He had made do with his old suit, sure, but it didn't hold a candle to Tony's design. Of course, Peter had taken the liberty of transferring his web-shooters and incorporating them into the suit itself, combining it with the already present web-tech that had been included.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Tony's engineering, it's just that Peter had already worked so hard on those specific designs. Plus, it was nice to have something that truly felt like _him_ incorporated into the high-tech multi-million dollar suit.

It was comforting.

Shaking away the distracting thoughts, Peter quickly changed into his suit, fingers brushing against the spider emblem in the center of his chest, the material conforming to perfectly coil around his muscles in a skin-tight suit.

The teen let out a small breath as he paused for a moment, turning his head to glance at himself in the mirror.

Peter Parker was nowhere in sight.

The person standing in his room was nothing like Peter. He wasn't weak and nervous. He wasn't cowardly and shy around everybody he met. He wasn't afraid to open his mouth and stand up for himself.

No, this was _Spider-Man_.

This was the protector of New York City. This was the guy that wouldn't hesitate to jump into the line of fire to do the job most others couldn't do. This was the guy that stood up for the people that couldn't stand up for themselves. This was the guy worth knowing. This was the guy worth _being._

Peter felt a smirk form on his face as he stole one last glance towards his closed bedroom door before yanking the mask down over his head. Skittering over to the balcony, Spider-man yanked open the doors and jumped onto the railing, balancing perfectly on the thin metal pole. He stared out at the bright lights of Manhattan farther in the distance, a large smile forming underneath the mask.

_Time to go to work._

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Upper Manhattan - East Harlem**

**12:56 a.m.**

"Would you _fucking GET THEM_ already?!" The man snarled as he pressed his foot as hard as he could into the gas pedal.

His partner reloaded the gun before sticking his head back out the car window, a hail of bullets shooting out of the machine. The cop cars speeding behind them swerved to avoid the oncoming attack as best they could. "What the _hell_ does it look like I'm doing?!" He shouted back as he grit his teeth and aimed towards the windshield.

"Well I don't know about you, but to _me_ , it sure looks like you're doing a real good job of _missing."_

The strange new voice as well as the sudden screech of shock from his partner had the man turning to glare, only for his eyes to widen as he caught sight of a red and blue-clad figure now crouching on the hood of the car casually. Spidey gave a small wave. "Sup?"

The two men stared at the figure for a moment longer before the driver whipped his head to stare at his partner. "Well don't just _sit_ there, idiot! SHOOT HIM!"

"Ooo! There we go! Thinking on our toes aren't we?" Spider-Man quipped as he flipped up onto the top of the car. "No wonder you geniuses haven't been caught yet!"

Leaning towards the side to avoid the stream of bullets that shot out of the top of the car, Spidey let out a laugh as he glanced behind him at the cops still chasing. By this point, they were sticking their head out the window to get a clear view of just what the _heck_ was going on.

He gave another wave.

. . .

They tentatively waved back.

Turning back towards the cars, he ducked underneath another wave of bullets and scooted closer towards the front. Rearing his fist back, the teen punched through the glass, eliciting another bout of shrieks from the thugs. "Oh, your war cries! Terrifying!"

His hand wrapped around the barrel of the gun, where he promptly crushed the metal underneath his grip, smoke sprouting from the end. The man yelped in shock and threw the smoking device to the ground as he whipped his head back up, only to scream as Spidey grabbed the front of his collar and lifted him out of his seat, literally _throwing_ him from the car.

The man shrieked loudly as he prepared himself to splat against the asphalt underneath, only to balk as he landed in something sticky and bouncy. Opening his eyes, he found he was now trapped in a large web suspended in the air between two light posts.

Not five seconds later, the man saw his partner be ejected from the speeding car in the exact same fashion. Suddenly, bright flashing red and blue lights entered his vision as he caught sight of the approaching cops.

_"Shit..."_

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Central Manhattan - East** **Midtown**

**01:13 a.m.**

"Hurry up and put it in!" The woman growled as she fired off another round of bullets. The employees all whimpered in fear as they pulled their hands up over their heads from their positions on the ground.

The man behind the bank counter shakily grabbed another handful of cash before stuffing it into the brown bag being thrust into his chest. The masked woman held the gun close to her body as her two male partners watched the hostages closely to make sure none of them tried to press any emergency buttons.

"Huh...they're really cracking down on security checks in these places haven't they?" Spider-Man called as he crawled in through one of the windows before promptly taking a seat on the ledge. "You gonna try and pat me down, ma'am? Cause I gotta say, I will _not_ tolerate you getting frisky." He muttered before jumping down to land next to the armed woman.

He suddenly found the barrel of a gun being pointed at his chest. "Get on the ground, you freak!" The woman shouted.

Spidey stared back at her, glanced down at the gun pointed at his chest and then lifted his head once again. "Can't these people ever get more creative with their weapons?" He turned to ask one of the hostages currently cowering near his feet. "I mean, seriously? I know it's efficient and whatever, but you could at least try to be a little more original. Like, nobody's ever been held at _laser_ -point before."

The man gave him an incredulous look before wondering whether or not the hero wanted him to _actually_ answer. The woman holding the gun held a similar look of bewilderment, Spider-Man taking the opportunity to grab the barrel of the gun and yank it out of the woman's hands before decking her in the chin, sending her sprawling to the ground. "See? That never would have happened with a _laser."_

Leaping over her, Spidey quickly slid underneath the legs of one of the two men and grabbed his ankles, yanking him to the ground as he did so. The other man charged over, only for Spidey to shoot out a low-lying web string, tripping the man before he could even get within range of him.

The teen watched with a bored eye as the two crooks slammed into each other before falling to the floor, groaning loudly. Shaking his head, Spidey noticed the numerous bills currently strewn about the room from when the woman dropped her bag.

Next to him, one hostage eyed a stack of bills next to him. He tentatively reached a hand out towards them only for Spidey to slap his hand and wiggle a finger in his face.

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Upper West Side - West 59th Street**

**01:35 a.m.**

The man let out a harsh breath as he gripped the purse in his hand tighter and continued to sprint, the woman's indignant cries sounding off behind him as he ran.

He felt a malicious grin form on his face as he glanced over his shoulder and found that nobody was giving chase after him, only to turn back forward and shout in shock, skidding to a stop in front of Spider-Man, who was slowly clapping. "Mmm...congrats, man. You have officially become the most _unoriginal_ crook in the history of ever." He snickered.

The man blinked in shock for a moment before balling his fist and swinging it towards the masked vigilante. Spidey barely even moved, simply leaning back to avoid the hit before crossing his arms behind his back as he gave a small sigh. "You know, it's guys like you that give crooks and robbers a bad name." He scolded before taking another step back as the man threw another punch.

Spidey quickly caught the man's third punch and fired a web at the robber's chest, flipping him backward as he proceeded to wrap the man entirely in the sticky fluid. "What the _hell,_ man?!' The crook shouted as he fell to the ground in a cocoon of webbing.

The teen casually grabbed the purse off of the ground and pulled out a stick of gum. Leaning down towards the downed crook, the hero quickly stuck the candy into the man's mouth, much to the robber's shock.

"See? It's much easier to chew that when you're not walking at the same time, isn't it?" He called before leaping back into the air.

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Lower Manhattan - East Village**

**01:54 a.m.**

"I thought you said he was a cat!"

The teen's eyes widened behind the mask as he caught sight of a large white and orange snake that was currently curled around one of the tree's higher branches and...was it _glaring_ at him?!

Oh, it totally was.

Spider-Man stole one last glance at the little girl currently staring up nervously at him before he let out a small sigh and crept closer to the reptile. A loud hiss sounded out through the air, to which the teen reared back, arms flailing in shock.

"Jesus, this is the scariest thing of the _night_!" The vigilante grimaced, ignoring the sad fact that he'd been held at _gun-point_ not even half an hour ago.

Exhaling loudly through his nose, the teen wrapped a hand around the snake's body and carefully unhooked it from the branch. "Ew, ew, ew, ew..." He breathed softly before letting out a high-pitch, almost inaudible cry as the snake began to coil around his arm instead.

Carefully jumping back down to the ground, the teen quickly rushed over to the little girl and thrust the reptile into her open arms. "Fluffy" She called as the snake wrapped around her.

"Fluffy? Seriously?"

The girl gave him a deadpanned look. "Give me a break. This is the closest thing I'm ever getting to a cat, alright?"

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Central Manhattan - Upper East Side**

**02:07 a.m.**

Peter stared out over the bright lights of the city, legs swinging happily as he sat on the roof ledge of the tall building. His mask lay next to him as he took in the sight of the bright lights and flickering neon signs. The sound of honking horns and wailing broadcasts met his ears as the teen let a content smile fall onto his face.

Lifting his hand to his mouth, he took another bite of his churro.

He'd have to remember where that lady lived so he could bring her some pastries later.

The teen finished off his latest form of _repayment_ and stepped away from the ledge, jumping back down onto the main rooftop. Peter had been coming to this exact building for as long as he could remember; before he'd ever even _considered_ the idea of Spider-Man.

 _Blue Booth Theatre_ had never really been a _booming_ tourist spot, not even in its hay day. A small little one-screen theater that could only hold seventy on a good day. Now it was abandoned, the screens blank, the popcorn booths empty and the seats torn, shredded, and dusty. It had been closed for about ten years now and the building seemed to grow more and more decrepit with each passing day.

Peter still came here, though. He didn't know why. Something about it just felt...comforting.

_("Where do wanna sit, baby? Careful, don't spill the popcorn.")_

Before Spider-Man, _Blue Booth_ was usually where Peter would go to escape. The building was condemned so there was nobody ever around. The interior was falling apart, sure, but it suited his needs as best it could. After all, it still had a roof, semi-sturdy floors, and most importantly, it wasn't home.

The empty manager's office served as a functional bedroom whenever Peter wanted a night away, complete with pillows and blankets stashed underneath the desk that he'd stolen from home. Peter didn't sleep there often anymore, but the option was always open, which made him feel a little better.

But tonight, he didn't go inside. Instead, he sat on the rooftop overlooking Central Park and the farther-distanced Town Square, the bright lights and loud sounds acting as a sort of beacon for the bustling center.

The teen leaned forward and placed his elbows on the ledge, resting his cheeks on his clenched fists as he felt the cooling breeze wrap around him, blowing his hair in all directions. As usual, the sky was a mixture of deep blues and dark blacks, harsh grey clouds of smog and smoke scattered throughout. The bright lights of the city below shone throughout the sky, breaking any chance of the stars to be seen. The small pinpricks of twinkling light simply couldn't compete with the sheer magnitude of NYC.

However, Peter couldn't help but smile softly as he caught sight of the moon peeking through the thick clouds, its pale white glow illuminating the rolling grey hills in the sky a painted silver. As his eyes trailed over the moon's glow, they caught sight of another, equally bright symbol in the distance.

Stark Tower shone brightly despite the numerous other lights surrounding it, acting as a sort of beacon in the distance. Peter's smile faltered slightly as he caught sight of the building, his mind running through everything it represented and reminded him of.

 _This is a horrible idea..._ Peter mumbled to himself. _You know this is only going to end badly, Peter. You know it. So why the hell are you even debating this?_

It was true. He _knew_ this tie with Tony Stark could only end disastrously, his interaction with the Cons earlier tonight simply confirming that. Despite what his father and the others assumed, Peter wasn't stupid. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He knew _exactly_ why his father had agreed to the internship.

He was using him...again.

Peter had known it the second Mr. Stark had come up to his room that night. He'd known it the second he'd heard that his father had agreed. He'd known it the second Mr. Stark left and he was left alone with them...

_I never should have agreed to this..._

He should have just refused Mr. Stark's offer. He should have just made up a lie to his father saying the billionaire had retracted his offer. He should have lied. He should have simply shaken the man's hand and forgotten about him. He had enough he already had to deal with. This was _not_ going to make things better.

. . .

And yet...

Peter's eyes flitted back over to Stark Tower. The teen would be lying if he said today hadn't been one of the best he'd had in... _forever._ Sure it'd had its ups and downs, but the teen knew if given the choice, he wouldn't hesitate in doing it all over again. Despite the numerous people, despite the uncertainty of unfamiliar territory, despite the nervousness that ate at his stomach...

With the robots, with FRIDAY, with the inventions, with Mr. Stark...he'd actually been... _happy_.

Peter honestly couldn't remember when he'd last felt comfortable around someone he'd only recently met. Sure Mr. Stark could be intimidating, but Peter got a strange feeling that the man simply put up a façade to deal with the kinds of people he had to on a daily basis.

He couldn't be too sure, but the teen wondered if maybe he'd seen something in the man that not many others had seen before. After all, it wasn't often someone was concerned enough to pry into his life.

He quickly disregarded the notion with a scoff, berating himself with the fact that someone like Tony Stark wouldn't actually be _concerned_ about him. The realization of said fact made the teen's hands clench slightly. Just what was Stark _playing_ at? What did he hope to accomplish in offering him an internship? What was he _planning?_

The teen relayed over the man's words from the previous night.

(" _...he was a little hesitant at first, but I was able to convince him to go along with it.")_

Peter tried to settle the queasy feeling forming in his stomach. _Did you convince him...or did_ he _convince_ you? he wondered to himself, knowing better than anyone that when his father wanted something, _nothing_ could stand in his way. Nothing.

As the thought swirled around his head, a worse one appeared. _Are you_ working _with him_?

Peter felt himself shaking at the thought that Mr. Stark was actually working _alongside_ his father, that maybe this was all a great big ploy. Nothing more than another one of his tricks, another one of his _tests._

And yet...as Peter recalled his talk with Tony from a few hours back, he couldn't help but linger on the expressions on the man's face whenever his father was brought up. They weren't tense. They weren't afraid.

They were...disgusted.

Peter couldn't help but hum in thought. It was strange, he had to admit. Seeing someone react to his father's name in disdain rather than spewing out compliments and appraisals.

As he recalled the man, Peter found himself dwelling back to their conversations. They had been... _interesting_ to say the least. It'd been a while since Peter had blown up like that. The teen was still berating himself for slipping like he did. But there was something... _strange_ he'd felt when he'd done it back there. It was different from all the other times he had slipped up in a lie or an excuse.

For the first time in a long time, Peter had felt... _hopeful?_ He couldn't be too sure of _what_ it was he felt exactly, but the teen knew it was strange. It was the same feeling he got whenever someone else other than Ned noticed his bruises or the fact that he was limping down the hallways. It was the same feeling he got whenever he was out with his father or the Cons in public.

It was the feeling of freedom, of salvation. It was the hope that someone... _anyone_ would finally stop being so blind and help him mingled with the fear of that exact same thing happening, a constant battle between hoping for someone to notice and dreading the idea of anybody actually finding out.

But something had changed that day. Something had caused that hope to somehow spark just a little stronger, washing out the dread for a fraction of a second.

_...You're an idiot, Parker._

Just as it had before, just as it _always_ did, the feeling vanished. It was an unwarranted feeling. Freedom? Freedom from what? His father was a good man, he'd said so himself earlier that day. Sure, he made mistakes, but who didn't? The fact of the matter was that his dad was his last piece of family left and he couldn't afford to be picky or whiny or dramatic or whatever else Richard would tell him he was being whenever he cried or complained.

He'd made his peace with it long ago, and he had promised himself to _never_ let himself feel those ungrateful feelings ever again!

. . .

. . .

So what happened?

What _exactly_ caused him to lash out like that?

(" _It's alright, Peter. I promise it is.")_

Peter felt a small smile spread on his lips. He knew he couldn't trust Mr. Stark. He could _idolize_ him. He could _adore_ him. But he couldn't trust him. He couldn't trust _anyone_ but his father, childhood hero or not. And nothing, not internships, not jokes, not even kind words would _ever_ get him to trust the man. He just...couldn't, for Tony's sake.

. . .

. . .

But still...it had felt nice to have someone to sit with.

Peter held his gaze on Stark Tower for a moment longer before lowering his head with a tired sigh. "Uhh...what have you gotten yourself into, Pete?" He muttered to himself.

Suddenly, his ears picked up a small, low-sounding boom that resonated through the air. Whipping his head up, his eyes could make out a flashing light farther up in the distance, near the center of the city. One that stood out from the others.

Rising up from his seat, Peter leapt up onto the edge and crouched down, narrowing his eyes as he strained to get a better visual. Judging from how far the boom had sounded as well as where the light was flashing, Peter lined it up with being right near. . .

 _"Oscorp?_ But what's-" He paused mid-sentence as his eyes widened. "Shit..." He gaped out before quickly seizing his mask and yanking it over his head. _There's a hit tonight?! How the hell did I not realize?_ The teen mentally screamed at himself as he leapt from the ledge, shooting out a line as he began to swing through the air. _God, this is what happens when you don't pay attention to them when they're planning, you idiot!_ He snarled as he swung as fast as he could towards the lab.

Sure, his father was a good man who made mistakes. But that didn't mean Peter couldn't clean up those mistakes.

"Alright...correction: what are you _getting_ yourself into, Pete?"

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Midtown West - Oscorp Central Labs**

**02:15 a.m.**

His feet made no sound as he landed on the rooftop. He slowly crouched down and began to move along the edge as he craned his neck to gain a view of what was happening below.

The bright lights that lined the outer edge of the Oscorp building shone brightly, though even their luminescence did little to light the alleyway with which one of the building's back doors was connected. But Peter could see all too clearly.

There were three of them, two men and a woman. They were dressed in all black, including the masks adorning their faces. Narrowing his eyes, Spidey couldn't help the grimace that formed as he saw the insignia etched into the left cheek of each of the masks.

A small butterfly.

 _Yep, should have known. Oh, Dad..._ the teen sighed to himself, the light of hope that this little heist wasn't what he thought it was quickly dying.

He noticed a hidden van deeper into the alleyway, concealed by the numerous shadows. The masked people were exiting out of a perfectly clean hole in the building wall, hauling case after case of what Spidey could assume to be worth _millions_ out towards the truck.

He could just make out the sound of hushed yelling, watching as the woman turned to glare at one of the two men. She then marched over towards the wall and pulled something Peter couldn't make out from her belt. Holding the unidentifiable object in her hand, Peter watched as four small metallic devices shot away from the corners of the hole in the wall and attached to the device. As they were ripped away from the wall, the hole sealed up perfectly, leaving no trace of it ever having existed.

Quickly realizing the group was soon to make their escape, Spider-Man narrowed his eyes and raised himself up, firing a web at the wall before him as he leapt from the building, swinging down towards the group.

A shout of shock escaped one of the man's lips as Spidey slammed his feet into his side, sending him flying as the teen landed on the ground. The other two remaining thugs stared at him as he did so, the teen giving a small wave. "Hey, you guys. Out for a midnight stroll? Man, I love those too. Mind if I tag along?!" He shot his fist forward, ramming it into the masked face of the second man, who fell backwards.

"Ugg! It's the Spider-brat the boss told us about!" The woman snarled, eyes narrowing as she dodged the teen's next punch. "So now what?" The first man asked as he rose back up to his feet from farther down the alley.

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes as he met the gaze of the woman. Despite the fact that she was wearing a mask, the teen was almost certain a smile was growing on her face. "What he ordered..." She answered slowly as she clenched her fists, eyes glowing a pale green.

Spidey faltered at this. _Shit..._

Without warning, the woman's palm whirred and opened up as she raised her hand, a bright green blast shooting out of the newly formed gun. Spidey narrowly dodged the blast as he leapt out of the way, rolling along the ground as he heard the blast slam into the wall behind him. A spray of shattered pieces of brick and stone pelleted his back as he whipped his head back up, only to see a huge boulder hurtling towards his face.

"CRAP!" Spidey shouted as he flattened himself to the ground, the boulder sailing over his head. Leaping up to his feet, he shot a web towards the woman, the fluid catching on her arm... _gun..._ whatever. However, the first man jumped forward, thrusting his hands out as an onslaught of large rocks followed his movements, shooting down towards the teen.

Flipping back, Spidey landed on the ground and fired another two webs, sticking them to the man's feet before yanking hard. The man shouted out as he fell to the ground, where the teen fired another round of webs, trapping him to the dirty concrete.

Suddenly, Spider-Man shouted out in pain as he felt metal connect with his side, sending him skidding backward. Letting out a hiss of pain, the teen lifted his head to see the second man glaring at him through the mask. However, Spidey's eyes were trailed to the man's arm - more specifically, his _skin._

It was solid steel.

The teen sighed. "I knew it was gonna be a bad day today." He muttered to himself as he slowly rose back up to his feet, narrowed eyes trailing on the three enhanced forms before him.

"Our boss is getting real tired of you interfering with our jobs, you brat." Peter heard the first man say. He was just gonna call him Rocky.

"And I'm sure he'd love to hear we were finally able to take you down." The cyborg woman grinned while the last metal man - Steel - clenched his fingers, the hard steel grating against each other. "Guess it's about time we remedy that little problem."

Spidey smirked. "Bring it on, stooges."

Two boulders were instantly carved out of the ground, hurtling towards him at bone-breaking speeds. Leaping into the air, Spider-Man leapt on top of one boulder, flipped onto the other, and finally landed on the shoulders of Rocky, swinging around the man to kick Cyborg's side, the woman shouting out as she was sent hurtling backwards.

Feeling a large hand wrap around his arm, Spidey watched as Steel charged for him, only to drag Rocky down to the ground with him, allowing the two men to trip over each other.

Suddenly, the teen felt a white-hot searing pain flare up in his shoulder as he let out a shout of pain. Ducking towards the ground, the teen glanced over his back and noticed his shoulder was now smoking along with the barrel of the woman's arm.

Narrowing his eyes, Spidey fired a web at one of the large smashed rock pieces around him and flung it towards the woman, who fired another beam at the projectile, blasting it into dust. However, it was enough of a distraction for Spidey to surge forward, ramming a punch against the woman's side.

The cyborg grunted but didn't back down as she threw a punch of her own. Spider-Man ducked below it and kicked his leg out, sweeping her feet out from under her. A sudden tingling in the back of his head caused him to flip out of the way as three more boulders shot past his head, only for the teen to groan as they swung back around and began to gun for him once again.

Turning on his heel, he noticed Rocky maneuvering the rocks with his hands while Steel reared his arm back, connecting a punch with the ground beneath him.

A large shockwave rolled through the concrete, rock, and asphalt waves unbalancing the teen, who grunted as large boulders slammed into his back.

"Ugg, come on, guys! It's a school night!" He shouted before firing a web at Steel, who grunted as the fluid slapped over his eyes, effectively blinding him.

Swinging forward, Spidey landed a hard kick on Rocky, the man flying back into Steel. The two collapsed in a jungle of limbs

A sudden humming behind him made him whip around, only to mutter another string of curses as he watched a handful of missiles fire off from the woman's shoulder. "You have missiles too?!" He growled before firing off numerous small bundles of web.

The small blasts connected with the tips of the missiles, driving them off course, where they exploded against the walls, the ground, the...the fire escape above...crap.

"Shit…" Peter muttered as he heard the tell-tale creak of metal snapping. The melting material began to separate from its binding as the entire metal structure began to fall to the ground.

Diving backward, the teen was barely able to avoid being crushed by the tangled metal as it crushed the van below it, effectively destroying the vehicle and shrouding the alley in a plume of dust and smoke. Taking a second to catch his breath, the hero slowly rose back up to his feet.

"GAH!" He shouted as he felt another hot blast slam into his chest, sending him flying out of the alley and into the street. Whipping his head up, he watched as the three enhanced charged for him, now looking even angrier than before. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd just crushed their escape vehicle and most likely whatever it was they had inside.

"So...I'm guessing you guys don't have car insurance…?" He tried, only for them to completely ignore his words. "Right…"

Lifting his arms, the teen blocked the aerial kick the woman threw, pushing her back just in time to duck and counter a punch by Rocky before throwing him into Steel. Now that they were out of the confines of the small, compact alleyway, they had much more room to space out.

Taking advantage of the spaced surroundings, Spidey fired a web at one of the nearby buildings and propelled himself forward, ramming his feet into the faces of both the cyborg and the metal man.

Safe to say, Peter assumed the move had hurt him much more than it'd hurt them.

Letting out a hiss of pain as he dropped back to the ground, Spidey fired another bout of webbing at the woman, only to have her blast right through them before hitting him in the shoulder. Shouting out in pain as he was flung backward, Spidey let out a yelp and rolled away right as a metal fist connected with the cement where his head had been moments ago.

The teen lifted his head, only to feel another boulder slam into his chest, sending him skidding backward against the asphalt. Letting out a shaky breath, the teen placed a tentative hand on his chest, wincing as he felt his ribs shift slightly.

The teen groaned in pain as he lay on the asphalt, the tree slowly approaching with harsh glowing eyes.

Turning his gaze towards the side, Spider-Man took notice of the fact that there were people on the street either watching or filming what was happening with tentative faces and nervous expressions.

 _Alright, Pete. No more fooling around._ He growled to himself. There were too many people here to continue fighting. They had to end this now.

Narrowing his eyes, the teen slowly rose back up to his feet as he glared back at the three in front of him. The woman let out a chuckle. "Aww...would you look at that? Little baby's still trying."

Rocky scoffed. "Welp, we've already lost our score. Might as well have a little fun with him, now."

Clenching his fists, Spidey flashed them a grin he knew they couldn't see. But he was sure they could hear his smile in the way he said his next words. "I'm pretty sure I'll be the one having all the fun from here on out."

Steel smirked. "Oh really? Well, let's just see about that."

Cyborg raised up her arm once more, firing another blast at the teen. Spidey barely moved as he twisted his body to the side, narrowly missing the beam. Lifting his hands, Rocky shot three more boulders towards the teen while Steel charged him once again.

Spidey jumped into the air as he landed on each boulder as they flew past, leaping off as he fired a web at the last passing rock, swinging it forward with his momentum. The rock slammed into Steel's side, sending him barreling through the glass front doors of Oscorp, a loud alarm sounding out through the air.

The two remaining thugs blinked in mild shock at the display before refocusing back on their prey. Cyborg lifted both of her arms this time, however, her other arm didn't simply open up. Instead, the skin around it began to separate, pulling backwards as a large blaster appeared from the metal underneath her pale skin.

Letting out a growl, the woman began to fire a barrage of blasts at the teen while Rocky continued to hurl boulder after boulder at him.

Spidey clenched his fists as he tensed his muscles. Skirting past the boulders, the teen ducked and leapt over the blasts as they whizzed by, feeling their heat through his suit as he did so.

As he continued to duck and dodge the projectiles and blasts, he began to make his way towards the two until he was a mere few feet from them. Leaping up, the teen tackled Rocky to the ground, the boulders falling to the floor as the man lost his concentration.

Letting out a furious roar, the man wrapped his hands around the teen's wrists as he tried to overpower him, only to find he was not the strongest one out of the two.

Spidey growled as he threw a hard punch towards the man's face, effectively disorienting him enough to pick him up and hurl him towards the woman, who gasped and leapt out of the way before her partner slammed into the ground. He didn't get back up.

Letting out a snarl, the woman raised u her arms once again, only to gape in shock as Spidey shot forward, clenching her forearms in his grasp.

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her leg to kick out at him, only for the teen to twist her around and flip her onto the ground. Before she could retaliate, she screamed out as she felt circuits and wires snap as the teen squeezed her arms, the guns whirring and screeching as they died. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" The teen cried as he continued to squeeze before finally letting go, leaping away from the fuming woman as she glared down at her arms before throwing the teen a deathly look. "Oh come on! You so asked for it!"

The woman had no time to utter a retort before a large metal fist was slamming into the teen's chest, sending him skidding backward into one of the nearby stores. Spidey felt something crack as he crashed into the wall, falling down to the floor with a groan where he let out a harsh cough of pain. "Shit…" He uttered for about the seventeenth time that night. "I forgot how much that hurts." He whined softly as he fought to blink back the dots blazing in front of his face at the pain in his chest, which felt like he'd just stabbed white-hot knives into his ribs.

Quickly remembering where he was and what was happening around him, the teen slowly - very slowly began to sit back up, arms shaking as he did so. He could feel glass shards poking into the suit, thankful that the strong material didn't allow the sharp edges to nick his skin as he pushed the wooden beams and brick pieces off of him. He painfully pushed through the debris and leapt back onto the street, only to let out a groan of frustration as he realized the only people on the street were him and the shocked bystanders.

 _Crap…_ He muttered to himself, the sound of approaching police sirens reaching his ears. Taking a moment to run back into the alleyway, Spider-Man cautiously moved through the mess of tangled metal that had once been the fire escape. Careful to avoid the small fires that burned around the mess, the teen moved over toward the back of the crushed truck, the doors bent and crushed together.

The fact did little to phase him, however, as he gripped the door handle and yanked the doors clean off their hinges. Inside, the teen saw numerous metal cases lining the crushed walls of the van. Yanking them out of the back, the teen carefully stacked them up against the alleyway wall before sticking them together with webbing, making sure nobody else could stumble upon the little goldmine.

As he heard the sound of cars pulling up, the teen knew he had to take his leave. Leaping up towards the wall, the teen quickly began to scale the brick structure before flipping over onto the roof of the building right next to Oscorp.

Fumbling for his mask, Spidey yanked it off the second he was out of sight, allowing a relieved breath to pass through his lips as he took a second to relax. Peter let out a small groan as he rested the back of his head against the ledge, the injuries sustained in the fight now beginning to show through as his adrenaline wore off.

Peter opened his tired eyes as voices met his ears. Blinking back his exhaustion, the teen strained to make out what was being said, though with his advanced hearing he could pretty much make out every single word.

"It's over here! . . . Shit, what the hell is this stuff made out of anyway?!"

"I don't know. Just be grateful this crap's even here at all. This is - what - the fifth tech robbery in the past three weeks?"

 _Actually, it's the seventh, but who's counting?_ Peter muttered to himself.

"What's the word from the civilians?"

"Apparently there were three suspects dressed in all black with...I think they said _masks..._ Anyway, they were apparently fighting Spider-Man before all four fled the scene."

"Well, they made one hell of a mess."

"Like I said, Morgan. Just be grateful this tech is still here. These psychos could make a shitload of money selling this crap to god-knows-who."

"They said a group, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You know, every report we've gotten on these robberies describes a group of people in all black with strange masks. You think maybe we're dealing with a gang or something?"

"I don't know...I guess it'd make sense. But all anyone's been able to get on these guys is that they all wear these weird masks with some sort of symbol on them. Every robbery they conduct is either identified the next morning or broken up by this Spider-guy. For some reason, they never trip any alarms, security protocols, nothing!"

"So they're smart..."

Peter clicked his tongue. _No...their boss is smart._

"Well that at least separates them from most of the criminal gangs around here, so that's a start."

The two cops chuckled slightly before falling silent, Peter taking it as a sign of their departure. The sound of more engines revving told him that more officers were now arriving on the scene, meaning they could handle everything from here.

Pulling his mask back on, Peter slowly rose back up to his feet, letting out a barely audible groan as he did so. _Could be worse, Parker._ He muttered to himself. _Just be grateful he didn't send out the elite squad tonight or you'd be more than just sore._ He grumbled.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way his shoulder and chest shrieked in protest as he fired off a web at one of the taller buildings in the distance, nor the fiery pain coursing through his abdomen as he swung through the air.

_That's enough for tonight, Spidey..._

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Lab 1**

**06:47 p.m.**

Tony hissed in pain as he ripped his hand away from the device, glaring down at the circuits that had shocked him.

The man let out an annoyed sigh as he forcefully slammed the screwdriver in his other hand down on the metal table in his lab. He ran a hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. He could feel his exhaustion pulling at his muscles as if trying to drag him towards his bed, but the man knew there was no point. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

The sound of whirring off to the side as well as a soft banging made his lift his head. DUM-E was currently running back and forth into one of the other nearby tables. Thankfully, the only thing on top of the metal surfaces were papers and blueprints. Nothing breakable.

Rolling his eyes at the antics of his malfunctioning robot, Tony was about to delve back into working on the piece for his new suit when his eyes caught a glimpse of the TV hanging above DUM-E's head.

"FRIDAY, turn up the volume."

_"-and we're now getting confirmation that Oscorp has now been the the seventh of a numerous string of different robberies plaguing the technologies manufacturing companies of New York. Live at the scene is Robert Malshaw. Robert?"_

_"Jen, we are here at Oscorp, where earlier this morning, an exciting battle took place here with different eyewitnesses placing local hero, Spider-Man at the scene. Reports describe the masked vigilante fighting off against three masked individuals. But, Jen, one of the most shocking developments is that many people are now saying the suspects were perhaps...enhanced individuals._

_However, despite the fact that the suspects were able to flee the scene of the crime, police have confirmed that all the stolen tech was accounted for behind the back alley of Oscorp, secured in a web-like substance that many around here can safely assume came from our local hero._

_At the moment, police have still been unable to crack down any key points or suspects in the robberies, there are rumors that each of these cases are somehow connected. But one thing is for certain, the people around here are pretty certain the police won't be alone in this little endeavor, if those webs have any indication. Jen?"_

Tony lowered his gaze, running his fingers over the screwdriver in his hand before lightly tapping the handle on the table. "Not bad, kid." He murmured as he glanced back down at the new suit piece before him. He'd have to make sure to check up on the kid on Wednesday. Make sure he didn't do anything stupid to get himself hurt.

He checked his watch. There weren't any notifications or alarms coming in from the kid's suit, so he had to be alright.

Shaking his head, Tony tried to push the kid out of his mind. He'd wasted enough time today thinking about the teen. He didn't need to use up any more.

He was about to ask FRIDAY to turn the volume back down, only to freeze at the next words he heard.

_"In other news, it has now been a little more than two weeks since it was officially declared that Captain Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Clint Barton, and Wanda Maximoff were fugitives of the nation and wanted criminals."_

_T_ ony hesitantly lifted his head back up.

_This development sparked after the controversial signing of the Sokovia Accords. After refusing to sign the new laws, Captain America aided in the escape of wanted fugitive James Barnes as well as resisting arrest with the aid of numerous other Avengers._

_Not long after their imprisonment in an undisclosed location, Steve Rogers was responsible for the escape of his allies before their disappearance."_

Tony felt his grip on the screwdriver in his hand tightening.

_"This situation has been the center of many bouts of controversy among people of the world, including our own New York. Here with you now, we have several local statements about the unfolding situation."_

The screen changed to a new person - a woman - on the streets, a large microphone being held up to her. _"If you ask me, I say this whole thing is a load of shit. The Avengers were designed to protect us, not squabble like children. I say you just throw them in a room together and force them to make up or something. I mean, like...come on!"_

A new person appeared. Male.

_"If you ask me, I'd say it was about damn time. You know, I lost my house in that damn alien invasion a few years back. Who do you think had to work two jobs after that, huh? Definitely not that Tony Stark I'll tell you that! So if these Accord things drive a little responsibility into that damn group, then I say go for it."_

One by one, more people popped up on the screen.

_"This has to be some sort of misunderstanding. The Avengers are heroes. They're not the bad guy. They FIGHT the bad guys!"_

. . .

_"I say they finally got what they deserve. Those freaks had it coming. All they do is stir up trouble and act without any consequences! It's about time someone put them in their place."_

. . .

_"This is definitely that Tony Stark's fault! He's always been a pompous douchebag and now he's gone and dragged the rest of those heroes down with him! Why doesn't he get thrown in jail? He causes just as much damage as the rest of them! If you ask me, he's the worst out of all of them."_

_. . ._

" _I just want to say...Captain America saved my life once. I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for him. So I don't care what the news says. I don't care what anybody says. He'll always be a hero to me. They all will."_

. . .

_"You know what? Tony Stark can go and-"_

"Turn it off."

The furious man's words were cut off before he could finish his thought, but the fact didn't make Tony feel any better.

The man fiddled with the screwdriver for a moment before taking notice of the fact that it was now bent slightly. Letting out a sigh, the man carelessly tossed the tool over his shoulder, a soft clatter reaching his ears.

He'd known it was a bad idea from the start.

Bring together a group of _extraordinary_ people to do e _xtraordinary_ things. On paper, sure. Maybe it could work out. Maybe things would go as planned.

But they never did. With people, there were always one too many variables. Now add a superhuman element to those people and you're looking at a real problem. Add an attitude issue and internal squabbling and you're looking at _a disaster_ waiting to happen.

Well...guess they weren't really _waiting_ anymore.

He knew it never would have worked. But...for a while there, things had looked as if they actually...might.

After New York, after people saw what they could do together, things had looked up. Sure, they hadn't exactly liked each other during that little situation, but even with their fighting, they'd still been able to come together to do something amazing.

Sokovia had done even more so. Once again, they had fought. But just as before, they'd moved past it and came together to do something great.

Well, here they were now.

As he'd said before, on paper...sure. Maybe they could have found a way to work through it. Maybe they could have compromised to find a solution to the Accords. Maybe they could have moved past it.

Maybe things would have gone as planned.

But they never did.

They had fought. But this time, there was no moving past it. There was no coming together. There was nothing great, nothing amazing, nothing...extraordinary.

No, this time it was just... _broken._

Tony had known it was a bad idea. But he'd still found a family in the group. He'd found a family in those new friends, in those...extraordinary people.

He'd found confidants in Natasha and Bruce. He'd found friends in Clint, Sam, and Thor. And he'd almost found a brother in Steve, something he'd only ever seen in one other man, and that was because he'd known Rhodes for most of his teenage and adult life.

He'd trusted them.

The man glared down at the machine in his hands, picking it up as he traced his fingers over the metal and wires.

And then, the one time he'd actually been a hundred percent sure of his actions...the one time he'd needed his friends...his family behind him… they turned their backs on him.

His grip on the device tightened.

They betrayed him. _He_ betrayed him! The one person he'd begun to count on to always have his back. The one person he'd finally begun to enjoy having around.. _.talking_ to. The one person he'd valued as a friend the most.

The billionaire clenched his eyes and grit his teeth tightly as he fought to gain control over the erratic beating of his heart. But even the sound of blood rushing through his ears as well as the piercing whine shooting through his skull wasn't enough to drown out the words swirling around his head.

_(You did this.)_

Tony could feel the metal beginning to dig into his skin as he clenched his fist around it.

 _(You drove them away. You drive everyone away_.)

Steve had simply thrown it all away. And for what? For an askew moral compass? For a secret he had no right to keep?

_(Of course they left you.)_

This was all Roger's fault. All of it! The Avengers falling apart. Rhodey's legs. Ross's insistence on making his life hell. His nightmares of one of his closest friends driving a shield through his heart!

_(Everyone does.)_

With a roar of rage, Tony reared his arm back and chuckled the metal device as hard as he could at the nearest wall. The piece exploded on impact, sparks, and wires flying everywhere as the shattered pieces fell to the floor.

The man heard his ragged breathing more than he felt it. He lifted a shaking hand towards his chest, rubbing at the faint scars his old reactor had left him. Slowly, the rage left his body like air from a balloon. His exhaustion and grief made him literally fall back into his chair out of his lack of energy. The man rested his arms on the table and placed his head on top of them as he let out a sigh. Fuck the nightmares. Let them come. His refrigerator was stocked and loaded for them anyway with those _cure-all_ bottles.

Tony had known it was a bad idea.

So why did it hurt so much to be proven right?

* * *

**Tuesday - March 8, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Second Floor Kitchen**

**07:45 p.m.**

Peter fought to keep his gaze locked on the bubbling pot in front of him. Dinner had to be ready in fifteen minutes. He didn't have any time for distractions.

The teen cast a small glance over towards his math textbook currently lying on the kitchen table, waves of gratitude rolling off him at the fact that they'd had time after Decathlon practice to finish up their homework that day.

God knew he wouldn't have time for it tonight.

"Jesus! How the hell did you let him damage you this badly?"

"I didn't let him do anything! The little shit was stronger than we thought he was!"

The teen kept his gaze locked on the frothing pot as he shakily reached a hand towards the box of noodles on the side. He watched as the long thin strands pooled out of the box before disappearing beneath the water.

"We told you. We fucking told you, Tonya!" Max snarled from the doorway. "We needed those cases. Now we're going to have to send another team out to retrieve them. But of course, now we're going to have to wait until this dies down because you fuck-ups managed to almost get caught!" The man roared out in fury.

Despite his better judgment, Peter hesitantly glanced upwards at the counter where Curt was currently sitting. The man was unscrewing one of the plates on Tonya's arm as the woman glared elsewhere. Farther into the room, Max stood off against Rocky and Steel.

Peter had never bothered to learn their actual names. They never stuck around long enough.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who the hell do you think you are, huh?" Steel snarled as he stepped closer. Now that his skin wasn't metallic anymore, the man looked much less intimidating. That, however, didn't stop him from getting defensive.

"We didn't sign up for fighting superheroes, alright? You said it would just be a simple mission in return for the upgrades you gave us!" He countered, morphing the skin on his hands in emphasis.

Max glared down at him. "That's because it _was_ a simple mission." He snarled. "I just shouldn't be surprised you three somehow found a way to fuck it up!"

"Hey!" Steel barked. "We're the ones that were out there risking our necks. We're the ones who had to face off against that little freak. We're the ones that-"

"Failed. You're the ones that failed."

All heads - even Peter's - turned to watch as Richard emerged from the elevator. Peter was the only one to quickly turn away as he concentrated on stirring the pot.

_(Head down. Mouth shut. Head down. Mouth shut.)_

The man stalked into the room with a disgusted expression as he stopped next to Max. "We gave you one simple job. And you couldn't even do that."

Rocky and Steel exchanged glances before the latter stepped forward, getting right into Richard's face.

 _That's a mistake._ Peter murmured to himself as he watched the noodles spin in the pot.

"Alright. Listen here, you stuck-up, rich boy. I don't need this. None of us do. We were perfectly fine without you and your little…" He paused to glance down at his hands, watching as they turned to steel before flickering back to normal. "...upgrades. And we'll be fine without you! In fact, I'd say you need to watch what you're saying and how you're saying it. Hate for someone out there to grow wise and get a little suspicious of you"

Richard leveled him a cold stare. "And just what are you saying exactly?"

Steel smirked at him. "I'm saying I think you should treat me with a little more respect. The things I know about you...about this place. Well…" He paused and glanced down at his fingernails before smirking. "I'd hate for somebody to...hear something."

Richard stared at the man for a moment longer before he let a small smirk fall onto his face as well. "Yes. I suppose you're right."

Faster than anyone could react, Richard whisked a gun out from behind his back and fired two shots at the man's chest. Steel barely had any time to gape in shock before another bullet was fired right in between his eyes.

Peter jerked at the noise, biting the inside of his cheek as he screamed at himself to keep his gaze locked on the pot before him.

Tonya's stared with wide eyes as the man fell to the ground with a thud, only to whisk back around as she felt a strong hand - one that hadn't been that strong a second ago - latch onto her already damaged wrist.

Whisking back around, she noticed a large scaly green hand was now wrapped around her arm, long black claws digging into the circuits. Lifting her head, she met Curt's now black eyes as the man grinned at her. "You might wanna sit down, honey." He said sweetly. "Cause you're not getting out of this now."

Richard glanced down at the body at his feet in disdain before glancing back up to Rocky, who was now being held against the wall by Max. "Now...do you share in your friend's sentiment?" the man asked as he leisurely twirled the gun back and forth.

Rocky was quick to shake his head back and forth.

Richard gave a smile. "Good. Now go join the others downstairs and I don't want to hear a word about this anymore. Do you understand me?" He asked darkly as Max lifted his free hand toward the captive man's face.

Rocky watched with wide eyes as Max's fingers sparked with electricity, dancing dangerously close to his eyes. "I...I-I understand...s-sir."

Max released his hold on him and the man floundered towards the elevator.

Curt's hand slowly transformed back as he stood up, Tonya doing the same as she watched the man cautiously. "Come on. I'm going to have to fix this down in the lab." He muttered, gesturing toward the woman's crushed arms.

She obeyed without complaint. They all did eventually.

Richard gazed down at the body for a moment longer before he glanced over at Max. "Deal with this, will you?"

The man nodded his head as Richard walked back over toward the elevator.

The dark-skinned man glanced down at the mess by his feet before letting out an annoyed huff. "Peter, get over here!"

The teen felt his grip on the spoon tighten for a moment before he released it, slowly and hesitantly walking over towards Max. He was careful to keep his eyes away from the steadily growing pool of blood.

The man gripped the back of Peter's neck. "Clean this up." He growled out before shoving the boy closer towards the mess. The teen caught a glimpse of the crimson pool and thrust his head away. He could feel his stomach churning. "B-but I have to...have t...d-dinner and-"

He gasped as Max lifted him up by the front of his shirt. The hold jostled Peter's still sore ribs as the teen floundered in the man's grasp. "Did you just talk back to me?"

The teen clenched his eyes shut as he turned away. "N...no sir." He sputtered out. A shocked gasp fell from his lips as Max tossed him to the ground, the teen landing on his side in the pool of blood, warm liquid splattering up against his cheek. "I don't want to see a single speck of blood on this floor when I get back." Max snarled darkly as he grabbed one of Steel's legs, dragging him over towards the elevator. A thick smear of blood followed after him, but Peter wasn't even paying attention anymore. His gaze was locked on his shaking, blood-covered hands.

"Oh...and you have ten minutes till dinner," Max called back with a sadistic smirk adorning his face. "Make sure that's ready." The elevator doors closed around him, leaving Peter alone in the room.

The teen stared down at his red hands before his resolve shattered as he struggled to smear the blood off of his hands, terrified sobs escaping his lips as he haphazardly wiped the blood off of his cheek with the back of his sleeve, panicked tears rolling down his face as the red liquid refused to come off of his fingers.

Peter didn't even notice when the pot of noodles boiled over.


	6. Rule 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9) I Will Never Ask for Help

_Peter winced and let out a pained whimper as the sound of shouting from downstairs grew louder and louder. He threw his hands over his ears and pressed himself into the corner of his room, tears leaking from his eyes._

_Mommy and Daddy were fighting._

_Again._

_He didn't like it when they fought. Daddy got mad and Mommy got all sad. They were loud too. That was scary._

_The four-year-old tried to ignore it as he rocked back and forth on the floor. Cracking open his eyes, he could just make out the light brown fur of his teddy bear peeking out from underneath his bed. Reaching out a small, shaky hand, the toddler grasped onto the matted fur of the stuffed animal and pressed it close to his chest. His fingers brushed up against one of the many different stitches along the toy's lining from where his Mommy had had to fix him up._

_His Mommy could make anything better._

_Another shout rose up from the floor, causing a panicked wince to sound from the boy as he curled up even tighter, scrunching his eyes closed as he buried his face in his bear._

_Eventually, the shouting died down before trickling off into nothing. Peter, however, didn't look up. He simply continued to rock himself back and forth. He didn't even move when the door to his room slowly let out a familiar SQUEAK, the tell-tale sign of a new presence in his room._

_It wasn't until he felt someone gently wrap their arms around him that he finally opened his eyes. Mary gingerly rearranged the child until he was now sitting in her lap, his head resting against her chest as she gently swayed him back and forth. Peter made no sound as he curled his fingers into his mother's shirt._

_"Fighting?"_

_"No. No more fighting." She whispered softly in response to her son's question._

_Peter blinked up at her, fresh tears still coating his eyelashes. "Is Daddy mad again?" He whimpered._

_Mary stared down at the child in her lap, taking in his quivering lip and shaking hands before letting a small smile form on her face. She gently cupped her's son's cheeks in her hands. "No. He's not mad anymore. Mommy and Daddy were just talking about some grown-up things." She explained with a smile. Peter, however - despite his young age - was not as oblivious as his mother thought he was, for he still caught the way she hastily wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve._

_Mommy was sad again._

_Peter felt more tears welling up in his eyes as he buried his face back into his mother's shirt. He didn't like this. Mommy and Daddy were always fighting now. He was always mad. She was always sad. He didn't understand._

_The four-year-old peeked out at the room, his eyes catching sight of the bookshelf lined up next to his bed. On the bottom shelf (the only one he could reach) there were numerous picture books, each with colorful illustrations and happy characters._

_Why weren't things like his stories? Why wasn't there some big strong hero to beat back the bad guy? Was there a bad guy?_

_There had to be. He just needed a hero to beat up the monster making his Daddy mad and his Mommy sad. He knew they were out there. His stories were full of heroes. One of them had to be coming soon, right?_

_"I don't like this, Mommy." He cried, clutching her shirt tightly. "I want things to be happy again! I don't like the monsters." He sniffed. "They scare me, Mommy. Promise you'll make them go away!" He pleaded. "Promise you'll make it better."_

_Mary blinked down at her son, unseen tears welling in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around the child. She wanted to. She wanted to promise all of that so BADLY! But deep down...she knew she never could. She could never give her son the guarantee that things were going to work out. Cause from where they were now, she honestly didn't know if they would._

_But she wasn't about to tell him_ that _, now was she?_

_Gently pulling the crying boy away from her, she wiped away his tears with her thumbs as she held his face. "Peter, listen to me, sweetie. I wish I could promise you all of that. But I don't think I can. I don't think anybody can." She sighed, staring down at her son, at those large brown eyes of his._

_"I can't promise you sunshine in the morning. I can't promise you no monsters will ever come. I can't promise you a happy ending. I can't promise you a fairytale." She murmured. "I can't promise you anything. Except myself."_

_Peter's watery eyes continued to stare up at her._

_"No matter what - be it monsters or knights in shining armor, war or peace, rain or shine - I will always be here, and you and I will always be a team." She said firmly, a gentle smile forming as she rested a kiss on Peter's forehead, the child letting out a small giggle at the action._

_Lifting up her hand, Mary extended out her pinky. Peter stared at the outstretched finger in confusion before looking back up at his mother._ _"In fact, just so you know there's no backing out of this..." The woman winked at him as she lowered her hand, looping her pinky around his much smaller one. "...let's make a promise."_

_Peter beamed, something Mary had counted on. For some reason, her son loved it when she promised him something. She often wondered whether or not it had anything to do with the notion that it meant she'd always have to be around to fulfill it._

_She shook her hand up and down, shaking the toddler's fist along with it. He giggled as the woman ran a hand through his curls. "There. Now it's official and there's no going back."_

_"You're silly, Mommy..."_

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs**

**05:26 a.m.**

Peter grunted as he was forcefully slammed into the wall, head hitting the hard surface painfully before he fell down to the ground with a thud.

He clenched his fists and let out an irritated sigh. Lifting his head back up, the teen narrowed his eyes and watched as the Lizard swished his long tail back and forth. His tongue flickered out of his mouth before disappearing once again, dark black eyes blinking down at him as he lunged.

Muscles coiling, Peter rolled to the side and leapt back up to his feet as the monster collided with the wall. Rushing forward, Peter pulled himself up onto the creature's back before slamming his elbow hard down on the reptile's head.

The monster roared out in pain before Peter felt a heavy tail slam into his side, sending him flying back down to the floor. Before he could raise himself back up, however, he felt a large force slam down on his chest as the Lizard crouched over him.

The teen screamed out in pain as he felt long claws dig into his shoulder and chest, kicking out blindly with his back leg. The hit was enough to knock the Lizard off balance, which allowed the teen to ram a fist in the monster's face, sending him flying backward.

Taking a second to catch his breath, Peter placed a tentative hand on his chest, wincing as he felt warm liquid come off of his fingers. He groaned in frustration. _Can we wrap this up? I have a test to study for!_

Sliding his feet back into a defensive position, Peter clenched his fists as the reptile let out a loud hiss, crouching down on the floor as it readied to pounce once again. Peter would have _killed_ for some weapon - _any_ weapon. But of _course_ , they just _had_ to be testing out his raw reflexes today.

 _Yeah, right. More like they just wanna see me get tossed around like a punching bag._ He growled bitterly before refocusing.

The Lizard shot forward, snapping his teeth loudly. Peter reared back and send a kick towards the monster, his foot slamming into the creature's head. The Lizard staggered back at the blow before countering with one of his own, slashing a claw towards the teen. Peter ducked underneath the attack before sliding across the floor in between the reptile's legs.

Jumping back up to his feet, Peter curled his hands around the monster's tail and pulled back. The monster hissed as it lost its grip on the floor, falling to his stomach as Peter used all of his strength to hurl him clear across the room.

The reptile slammed painfully against the training room walls, the white surface rippling as it absorbed the shock of the impact. Peter let out a strangled breath as he placed his hands on his knees, fighting to drag in a breath as he huffed. Peter didn't know how long they'd been going at it, but he knew he was running out of steam.

He could only hope his father was feeling merciful today and would call it soon.

The teen stole a glance back at the one-way mirror on the wall before turning forward once again. _Doubt it._

Before he could take in another breath, the Lizard reared back up once again, a loud roar tearing its way through his throat. Peter flipped out of the way as a large claw slammed down into the ground where he'd once been standing. However, as his feet came to land on the floor once more, the creature's long tail whipped through the air, hitting him in the side once again.

The force sent him flying into the side wall for around the sixteenth time in the past ten minutes. If he were being honest, it was really starting to get old. The boy struggled to rise up to his once again, only for a large scaly claw to wrap around his throat, hoisting him up into the air before slamming him into the wall.

The teen lifted his hands as he fought to pry the claw from his neck while he tried to land a solid kick, only for the reptile to squeeze harder. A strangled gasp filtered out of Peter's mouth as he struggled to drag in another breath of air.

The Lizard let out a loud hiss as he raised his other hand, poised to strike his claws down.

_"Enough."_

Both heads swiveled towards the back wall as a large door slowly materialized from the white surface. Richard calmly stepped into the room, Max standing next to him with a clipboard and a stopwatch in his hands.

"23 minutes, 17 seconds." The dark-skinned man reported before writing something down on the clipboard. "8.5 times longer than the control group." He murmured.

Richard gave a nod that was something akin to approval as the Lizard haphazardly dropped the teen in his grasp. Peter collapsed onto the ground as he wrapped a hand around his throat and coughed harshly. Through the pained tears in his eyes, Peter could just make out the Lizard stepping back slightly as his green skin and long tail slowly disappeared into the usual pale complexion of Curt Conners, minus one amputated right arm. The man sneered down at the boy by his feet before going over to stand by the other two.

Max silently handed the man his prosthetic, the three men conversing quietly as Curt re-attached his limb, but Peter he wasn't really paying attention anymore. Instead, the teen was just focusing on taking in deep, steady breaths as he struggled to get his heart back under control. His muscles screamed at him in protest as his body shifted.

The teen stole a small glance up to stare around the training room. _At least they didn't use the lasers today..._

The ten was startled from his thoughts as he was roughly hauled to his feet. "Let's go." Richard muttered as he tossed him towards the door. Peter steadied himself before he could faceplant on the floor, hastily walking out the door before they could change their minds and decide to go another round.

Stepping out of the room, Peter couldn't help the queasy feeling that built up in his gut as his eyes scanned over the large room he'd grown to hate with all his might.

_The Subway..._

It wasn't even a room at all. In fact, as the name suggested, it'd been an active subway station. However, it had long since been abandoned. But of course, his father had found a way to repurpose it. Now, the station was full of high-tech machinery and sleek metallic fixtures. Weapons of all sizes and assortments lined the walls. Cages filled with howling, roaring animals were set against the back while strangers he'd grown used to seeing walked past him, each with faces of distrust and malice.

He hated this lab.

The teen must have hesitated slightly, for he felt something jab him in the back. "Keep moving." Max hissed as he shoved him forward. The group made their way over towards one of the more secluded areas of the lab. Around them, different machines and monitors sat around a metal, blood-stained chair.

He hated that chair.

Another sharp shove had him sitting on the metal surface, his fingers curling around the seat as his shoulders shook with tension. His face, however, showed no sign of his stress as he fought to remain calm.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Richard moved towards one of the nearby metal tables. The man turned his back as he began to meddle with something in his hands. But Peter didn't need to see to figure out what it was. He'd done this plenty of times in the past.

He hated all of it.

As per the usual routine, Curt roughly grabbed his arm and began to clean off some of the skin with a sterilized cotton ball. His metal fingers were cold against the boy's skin. The mechanisms inside _clicked_ together. Richard moved closer, a large syringe clenched between his fingers. Peter took a steadying breath as his father lowered the syringe.

Peter didn't even make a sound as the needle pierced his skin, digging down into his veins. He watched with glazed eyes as the syringe slowly began to fill with the familiar crimson liquid. Pulling the needle back out, Peter winced and rubbed at the blood now dotting his arm.

The teen let out a small sigh as the men moved away from him once again, moving back over towards the table to discuss the results of the tests they'd run that day during training. Peter pulled his legs up so that his feet were resting on the seat of the chair, his arms curling around his legs as he rested his cheek on his knees.

They'd been doing this little charade for around ten years now, and Peter could honestly say he was getting just a little tired of it. The harsh training, the painful experiments, the screaming and slapping.

Not really the best environment to stimulate healthy adolescent growth.

His father, however, didn't seem to grasp that concept, at least...not anymore. There were days where Peter wondered if he ever had.

Richard had begun the tests years ago, but they still hadn't stopped. If anything they'd only escalated to extreme heights. Peter continued to ask himself why it had all started in the first place, but he knew it was unlikely he'd ever get the answer. He couldn't exactly just walk up and ask his dad.

He knew. He'd tried once.

_("Now, you're going to stay in there until you learn your place!")_

No, all Peter knew was that even as a child, Richard had been using him. He still remembered the _"games"_ they used to play, the funny-looking water in those beakers, in those syringes. _"They'll make you better."_ He'd used to say.

Peter hated those games.

Though he supposed he had to at least give the man a little credit. After all, without those tests, he never would have gotten his powers. Though of course...things only got worse once his father discovered his advancements so…

There were ups and downs he supposed.

One extreme down was the Cons. Just a little bit of independent research had told Peter everything he'd needed to know on them. They were bad news. Of course, he would have been able to gather that just from his first interaction with them.

_(Come on out, Petey! You can't hide forever...we just want to play!")_

If one good thing came out of the Cons appearing, it was that the tests began to delve away from him and started to focus more on them. Once again, Peter never asked any questions. He was finally beginning to learn about the rules.

After their...advancements had been made, Richard continued to work with them. After a while, his focus abandoned Peter altogether and turned solely to the enhanced individuals he'd been able to create.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Peter had continued to hold onto the hope that maybe, one day, the man would turn back to normal. He would stop the tests and experiments and crazy ideas and finally become….well, a father.

Then the Avengers came along.

If Peter had thought the man was bad before, then what came next was a literal nightmare.

_(Training, testing, experiments, successes, failures, repeat, repeat, repeat.)_

At the time, the teen still had no clue what Richard was hoping to achieve. All he did know was that if he didn't learn how to stay quiet, out of the way and obedient, he wouldn't last long. Most of the new people already didn't last long.

"Hey."

Peter jolted out of his thoughts as Max glared down at him expectantly. "Umm…" He murmured, unsure of what had just been asked of him.

"You're arm, boy!"

Quickly sticking out the limb, Max harshly grasped it before reaching towards the side, pulling a small rolling table over towards them. He slammed the limb down on the surface of the table, ignoring the wince of pain that hissed out of Peter's lips. The table surface was tiny, only around the size of a large textbook. But on the sides, there were multiple thick leather straps attached to the steel surface.

Wrapping his fingers against the leather, Max pulled them over Peter's arm before firmly strapping the limb down with one strap going over the bend in his arm while the other wrapped around his wrist, leaving the underside of his forearm completely exposed.

It wasn't until two years ago that Peter had finally begun to understand.

Peter tried not to the look at the old, long, ugly scar that ran up the skin. He tried not to watch as Richard and Curt made their way over, surgical gloves how adorning their hands. He tried not to shake as Richard slowly inspected one of the scalpels sitting on the table beside them.

It wasn't until two years ago that his father had begun recruiting the others.

_(Head down, mouth shut, head down, mouth shut...)_

It wasn't until two years ago that his father made his goals clear to him.

Quickly following procedure, Peter opened his mouth as Max shoved a thick rubber bar in between his teeth. They didn't like it when he made too much noise.

_("We'll make them all better...")_

It wasn't until two years ago that Peter finally stopped sleeping through the night.

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**06:35 a.m.**

The cold water splashing against his face made a shiver shoot down his spine, the now wet strands of hair clinging to his face as he lifted his head to stare at himself in the mirror. The sight didn't shock him. It merely made a tired sigh flutter out of his mouth.

There were dark purple bags hanging underneath his eyes, which were red and bloodshot. His skin was pale and pasty, making the harsh red scars marring his face all the more prominent. His hair was messy and unkempt and the small cut on his bottom lip stung as he exhaled.

Running a hand across his wet face, Peter grabbed one of the last clean towels and wiped his face. His eyes drifted down to the mound of blood-soaked towels and wipes that littered the floor before he turned away, crouching down as he opened up the sink cabinet.

Pulling out a large roll of gauze, Peter stepped over the bloodied cloth and sat down on the closed toilet seat. He hissed in pain as he jostled his arm while resting it on his knee. He hesitantly scanned his eyes over the injury, which was still bleeding slightly. As usual, the scalpel had cut over the same scar line that had run along the arm before.

Even with his powers, Peter knew that scar would never heal. Not anymore.

He fought to keep his arm still, knowing that if the skin flaps jostled slightly and parted to reveal the muscle and bone underneath, he would just lose it. Gently, the teen placed the gauze packet in his mouth before pulling on the flap with his fingers, the packaging opening to release the soft, white material inside.

He winced as the gauze gently grazed the slash before he began to fiddle with the wrap near his feet. The teen took a steely breath before firmly pressing the end of the wrap on his arm. Biting back a scream, Peter began to tightly wrap the limb, careful not to cut off the blood flow as he finished off the wrap and pinned it to the cloth.

Letting out a ragged breath of relief, Peter slowly rose back up to his feet. Cautious in his movements and careful not to move his arm too much, the boy removed his blood-stained shirt and tossed it into the bloody pile in the corner.

He'd have to remember to do laundry tomorrow.

Wincing as he noticed the new scars and bruises littering his body courtesy of his training with Curt, the teen made his way over towards the medicine cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and released six pills into his hand. He knew it would barely make a dent in the pain, but it would at least be enough to take the edge off for a while. Quickly downing the caplets, the teen exited the bathroom before making his over towards his dresser.

Carefully dressing in his usual loose-fitting clothes and baggy jackets, the boy checked to make sure everything he needed was in his backpack before making his way over towards the door.

Even before he opened it, he knew the Cons were in a bad mood. Just by the way their angry voices carried up through the floors was indicator enough. Peter let out a tired groan as he pressed his back against his door.

 _I so cannot handle them today..._ He murmured to himself.

Training had been extra demanding that day. Not to mention the extra poking and prodding courtesy of his loving father. He did not need to add beatings from cranky Cons to the shit-list.

Biting his lip, the teen cast one more wary glance towards the door before narrowing his eyes. Walking back into the room, Peter grabbed his backpack as he walked past before making his way over towards the glass doors. Walking out onto the balcony, the teen cast one more glance behind him before activating his web-shooters, firing a web towards the neighboring building.

 _I'm so going to pay for this later._ He muttered to himself as he swung off the railing and propelled himself onto the roof of the next building. His arm shrieked in protest, but he was too relieved to care. He'd worry about the Cons and his father's wrath later.

For the time being, for the rarest of moments, he was free.

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Tech - Cafeteria**

**12:14 p.m.**

"Come _on,_ Peter! Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

Peter let out a breathy laugh as he glanced over at Ned. "Dude, I already told you pretty much everything." He replied with a grin as he glanced back down at the book in his hands. "And maybe keep your voice down this time." He said in a noticeably quieter voice as he shot a glance over towards the other kids sitting at the table. Abe, Charles, and Sally, the other Decathlon members all sat a little ways away, talking and chattering amongst themselves. Even though Peter had grown to become friends with the group, it still didn't mean he wanted to blab his entire social life to them.

But it wasn't like they'd believe him anyway.

The sounds of loud laughter, noisy chewing and bellowing voices of the cafeteria did little to drown out Ned's excitement (and lack of guilt), nor did it hide the way Michelle abruptly shut her sketchbook.

Said girl raised a brow from her seat next to him. "You cannot have _possibly_ told us _everything,_ Peter." She muttered. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been trying to dodge our questions." She pointed an accusatory finger his way.

Ever since returning to school on Tuesday, both Ned and MJ had been hounding him on spilling the details of the internship. Well...more Ned than anything else, but even Peter could tell the reclusive girl was curious as well.

Her words held some truth. It wasn't that Peter didn't want to tell them about the internship. It's just that...Peter was having a hard time understand it himself at times. So how could he possibly explain it to his friends?

Still, that did little to deter them.

MJ turned away from her book and rested her elbow on the lunch table. "Like, okay...you still haven't told us about Stark yet."

Peter fiddled with the corner of the book page as he stared down at the words, which seemed to grow harder and harder to read as they continued to speak. "What about him?" He asked, still not looking up.

Ned didn't seem to notice the uncomfortable aura around his friend as he nearly began to bounce in his seat. "What's he like? Is he as cool as everyone thinks he is, or is he mean? I don't think he'd be mean, cause he's like...a superhero. Superheros can't be mean, right? Cause it's like-"

MJ slapped her hand over the boy's mouth with a roll of her eyes before glancing back over towards Peter. "Well..."

Peter let out a small sigh as he closed his book, knowing he wasn't going to be able to refocus back on it anytime soon. _Calm down, Parker. They're your friends. You can trust them. You can trust them. They're your friends. They won't tell anyone. They won't tell_ them. _You can trust them. Trust them._

He picked at the corner of the book in thought before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "He's nice."

Michelle raised a brow at the teen's words, hand not leaving Ned's face as the boy continued to stare excitedly. "He's... _nice?_ " She repeated. "Him? Tony Stark? Infamous playboy jerkwad? The media's favorite puppet? _He's_ nice?"

Peter didn't know why that rubbed him the wrong way. "Didn't think you were one to judge someone by their cover."

MJ narrowed her eyes. "I'm one to judge someone by their pages. And his read like an issue of Playboy magazine." She muttered. "He's like the poster child of narcissistic rich white guys with way too much power and too little brains. Or in his case, modesty." She sniffed with a roll of her eyes, finally removing her hand from Ned's mouth.

Said boy gaped at her with wide eyes. "Seriously?" He breathed. "This is the same guy who literally saved the city from not just an alien invasion, but also flew a frikkin _nuke_ through a wormhole!" He huffed indignantly.

MJ seemed unphased. "He's also the same guy who supplied over a million weapons and guns to overseas forces just to bolster up his company name. Not to mention the fact that he's probably given a fair share of reporters ' _exclusive pieces_ ' on him." She smirked.

"Oh come on! That's-"

"He wasn't like that."

Both Ned and Michelle were disrupted from their argument at Peter's soft voice. The teen was fiddling with his forearm, eyes hard. "What?" MJ asked as she turned towards him. Peter let out a sigh before turning to face them. "He...he wasn't like that." He repeated. "Not with me."

The two friends glanced over at each other before turning back towards Peter as the teen continued. "You know, I don't really know what I was expecting when I agreed to this internship thing. I just thought I would be doing work around the Tower, and since Mr. Stark's always so busy, I didn't really think we'd even cross paths." He confessed.

"But on Monday...I...it was... _different._ He showed me around, talked to me. And...and I actually...talked _back."_ He breathed.

Ned blinked in shock at that, knowing just how submissive and silent Peter had been brought up to be. "I didn't know why...I still don't actually. It's just that..." He trailed off and gave a small shake of his head. "I don't know, it felt . . . . _easy._ Talking to him, I mean." Peter glanced down at his hands and gave a small smile. "He didn't seem to mind it, either. So I...kept going."

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "I guess there's your answer. He didn't seem to mind... _me_. So, yeah. He's nice...at least _I_ think he is."

Ned and Michelle sat in silence for a moment as they took in the teen's words. Finally, MJ lowered her gaze as she glanced down at her sketchbook. "If you say so, Loser." She murmured, though both boys knew she held no malice behind the tease.

Peter rolled his eyes with a small smile as Ned turned back towards him. "Well if all that's true, then it must be even _better_ getting to work with someone like Tony Stark." He practically gushed, eyes twinkling in excitement. Peter opened his mouth to reply, only for a snarky voice to cut through the air.

"You're _still_ on about that bullshit?"

All three teens gave a collective sigh as Flash and a few of his friends walked over, a smug smirk plastered onto his face. Peter merely gave him a bored expression. "What do you want, Flash?" He sighed as he fiddled with the fork in his hand, his other coming to rest on his forearm. Why was it hurting so much all of a sudden?

The boy showed a cocky grin. "I wanna know why you're so adamant about trying to convince people of this blatant lie. It's so... how do I put this...? Pathetic. Even for you, Penis Parker." He quipped, his friends snickering behind him.

Peter merely rolled his eyes at the comment, but Ned seemed to get annoyed for the both of them as he narrowed his eyes. "It's not a lie, Flash. He really _does_ have an internship at Stark Industries." He growled out. As Peter expected, however, the boy merely scoffed. "Oh god, Lees! You are _so_ naive! You honestly expect me to believe that someone like Parker could get something like that? _Nobody_ can get an internship with Stark Industries." He sneered.

 _"Nobody_ or just you, Flash? Cause honestly, those are two very different circumstances." MJ muttered, not even bothering to look up from her book.

Flash threw a glare her way as he clenched his fists. In his silence, Peter noticed the slight reddish tint that blushed Flash's cheeks, something he was sure nobody else picked up on.

The bully turned to gaze over at the other Decathlon members. "Come on, you guys. You can't tell me you actually believe Parker's all buddy-buddy with Tony _fucking'_ Stark." He scoffed. "I mean, _seriously?_ "

_"You're a waste of space."_

Peter felt his hands twitch as he continued to fiddle with the fork. He didn't look up. His arm hurt.

The teens seemed reluctant to join in on the conversation. Whether it was because they just were comfortable with it or because of Flash's routine annoyance - most assumed the latter - they didn't say. Nor did they stay silent. Sally rubbed the back of her neck as she fiddled with her fork. "Umm...I...I guess it is a _little_ shocking." She mumbled.

"But Peter's not one to lie." Abe said quickly, shooting a glance over towards the other three teens as he chose his words carefully while keeping a watchful eye on Michelle. One look was the only warning you got before she'd maul you, and the dark-skinned boy was treading on thin ice. "So...so I don't really have any reason _not_ to believe him."

Charles averted his gaze. "Y-yeah. What...what they said." He uttered.

They were lying.

_"You aren't worth shit."_

He pressed the sharp tips of the utensil against his fingers. He didn't look up. His arm burned.

However, Flash didn't seem to take their rejection of his idea too hard as the boy was quick to throw an arm around Peter's shoulders.

The teen instantly flinched at the touch as a growing uncomfortable shiver ran down his spine, the same feeling that overcame him whenever _anyone_ even attempted to touch him.

"So you planning on keeping this up for long, cause we were thinking of starting up a bet to see how long it'll take until you admit this is all fake, and I got to say I have a lot of money riding on your delusions, Parker." He snorted, with an added jeer from the group behind him.

Ned clenched his fists. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that Peter's not making this up?!"

"Uhh...cause Tony Stark's _Tony Stark_ and Penis Parker's . . ." He paused before another triumphant smirk fell onto his face. "Well, I think the name says it all."

_"Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with."_

He could feel the fork beginning to give in his hand as his grip tightened. He didn't look up. His arm was on fire.

Michelle stole a small glance up. "No, it's because that would mean accepting the fact that Peter's better than him at something, and we all know Flash can't have that." She muttered sarcastically as she rested a cheek on her fist. "Honestly, Flash. Can we not do this right now? I'd really rather not have to deal with you until I need to shoot down your wrong answers at Decathlon practice."

Alright, there were a few well-placed snickers at _that._

Flash, however, paid no mind to them as he leaned closer, "accidentally" tipping over his juice box, the contents dribbling out onto Peter's shoulder. The teen jumped slightly at the wet feeling, only for Flash to move closer. "Might as well drop the act, Penis." He scoffed. "Cause there's no way in hell someone like Stark would ever waste his time on a nobody like you."

_"You will always be nothing."_

_SNAP!_

Peter shot up from his seat faster than anyone was expecting, including Flash as the broken fork pieces clattered against the table. The teen whipped around to stare the bully straight in the eyes, something that startled Flash, Ned, and even Peter himself. Peter _never_ looked people in the eyes. However, the intensity of the stare alone was enough to make everyone go quiet, and by everyone...it meant _everyone._ Nobody in the entire cafeteria made a single sound as they all turned to watch the spectacle.

For a moment, everyone held their breaths as they waited for Parker to make a move, to come back with a retort, to do... _something._ But all he did was reach down, grab his backpack, and shrug his jacket off of his shoulders. "Have a nice day, Flash." He said softly before turning and walking out of the cafeteria without another word.

Not one person noticed the small speckles of blood staining the teen's sleeve as he left.

Nobody said anything for a moment before the soft hum of chatter returned to the once silent cafeteria. Flash stood still for a second longer before blinking back into reality, a cocky laugh bubbling out of his throat as he turned back towards his friends, the group slowly walking off. "What a freak." Someone muttered, to which the group wholeheartedly agreed.

Ned and Michelle glanced at each other before turning their concerned looks towards the door.

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Building 2 - First Floor Boys Bathroom**

**12:17 p.m.**

Peter slammed the stall door shut so forcefully, he was lucky he didn't rip it off its hinges. The boy fought to steady his hands as he hastily rolled up his sleeve. But the horrid burning sensation that was currently shooting through the limb was making it just a _little_ hard to concentrate.

The teen blanched as he noticed the bandage wrapped around his arm was nearly soaked with blood, the crimson color contrasting the pale white of his skin...skin that wasn't _usually_ that...pale. The teen's eyes, however, remained on his arm as his shaking fingers unsteadily undid the wrap and exposed his forearm.

It was still there.

Why was it still there?

" _23 minutes, 17 seconds."_

The wound was still open and bloody, almost as if it'd just happened moments ago. Usually, by now, his powers would have kicked in and the wound would have at least stopped bleeding. At most, it would have already scarred. But not this time. This time, it was acting...normal.

Only he wasn't normal.

So this wasn't, _either._

_"8.5 times longer than the control group."_

Peter could feel his chest constricting as he fought to remain calm and dropped his backpack onto the floor. Hastily unzipping it, the teen reached in and yanked out another roll of bandages as well as some wipes. The teen hissed in pain as he ran the wipe over the incision.

" _I'd hate for someone to...hear something."_

Peter felt a whimper bubble out of his mouth as he watched the blood quickly spill out over the cut once more. His hands began to shake violently as he continued to wipe at the blood, only for more to take its place each time, bubbling out of the incision like magma spilling from cracks in the ground.

" _Yes...I suppose you're right."_

As the wipe slowly became saturated with the dark liquid, Peter noticed the crimson pearls soaking onto the tips of his fingers, staining them red.

_BANG!_

His shaking hands accidentally hit against the cut, making the teen cry out sharply before he bit his tongue to silence himself, shutting his eyes tightly He could taste blood in his mouth, but he didn't care. He needed to keep quiet. _They didn't like it when he made too much noise._

Throwing the red-soaked wipe to the floor, the boy hastily grabbed another and continued to try to clean the cut, only to freeze as he caught sight of the skin _around_ the incision.

Peter felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the harsh dark veins snaking underneath his papery-white skin, the burning sensation returning full force as the veins seemed to glow ever so slightly. _Oh god. Oh god, what did they do?!_ He screamed at himself as he began to scratch at the skin, fearful whines filling the stall.

In his panic, the teen didn't even register as his nails raked across the incision, ripping at the skin and tearing at the limb as he fought to stop the burning. _God!_ It hurt so much!

_"You're arm, boy!"_

Panicked whimpers escaped his throat as the teen continued to tear at the limb, fighting to push and scratch and _stop! Why wouldn't it stop! Make it stop!_ It felt like millions of white-hot needles were piercing his skin, digging underneath muscle and bone to puncture the veins, tearing and stretching them into nothing but shredded ribbons. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. If he could, he would have told himself that he was just making it worse. He would have told himself to be quiet. He would have told himself that this happened almost every time they tested a new serum.

But he couldn't. So he didn't.

Peter barely felt the tears streaming down his face, dripping down onto the floor below. All he could feel was the burning in his arm...and in his chest. Was he even breathing anymore? That would explain the burning. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his brain, Peter couldn't bring himself to care. All he cared about was the burning. And he had to make it _stop._

So the boy never noticed as he began to hyperventilate. He never noticed the pained gasps that forced their way out of his throat. He never felt his body curl in on itself as his back hit the stall door and he wrapped himself into a ball, rocking back and forth as he cradled the limb to his chest. All he knew was that the burning _wouldn't stop._

As he panicked, he noticed a growing _whine_ sounding in the back of his head. He could hear the dripping of the faucet outside the stall. He could feel the fabric of his sweater brushing up against his skin, coarse and uncomfortable. He could even smell the blood that was now staining his jacket. All of it bombarding his senses in an ovewhelming wave.

It wasn't long before the teen couldn't choke back a sob, resting his forehead on his knees as he hugged his arm close to his body, the overwhelming pain and irritation making him want to curl up and hurl as he cried, steady tears flowing down his cheeks, dripping onto the bloody mess that was his arm.

_"We'll make you better."_

It wasn't until the end of lunch that the burning finally ceased, the veins disappeared, and the blood stopped flowing.

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**03:12 p.m.**

_"I want them found and captured."_

"Yeah, well I want a coffee machine that doesn't cut me off after four cups but I don't see that happening anytime soon either, so..."

 _"You're saying you won't help?_ "

Tony couldn't help the annoyed sigh that bubbled past his lips as Ross' condescending voice filtered out of his earpiece and ingrained itself into his brain. The man felt a headache blossoming as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm saying this isn't my problem." He growled out.

_"You signed those Accords, Stark-"_

_"_ Uh-huh." The man cut him off. "So until the UN calls to tell me they're setting me up to track those convicts of yours, I don't see why I should care about this." He muttered. "It's not my job to clean up your messes."

There was a pause. _"Yes, well...I suppose I can't expect that of you considering you can't even clean up your own."_

Tony grit his teeth as he narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you want, Ross?"

"Ahem..."

 _"I already told you what I want. I need those fugitives. Meaning I need information, and you're - sadly - my best bet."_ His angered voice cut through the line. Tony rolled his eyes as he sat back against the edge of his desk. "Hate to break it to you, Ross, but if that's what you're looking for, then you're not gonna get much from me."

" _Are you refusing to cooperate?"_

Tony scoffed. "You'd just _love_ that, wouldn't you? No, I'm saying I don't _know_ anything."

"Tony..."

It was Ross' turn to scoff. " _You honestly expect me to believe that in the four years you knew them, you didn't learn_ anything _about them? Where they might go? Who they might talk with?"_

"Tony...!"

The billionaire narrowed his eyes and folded his arms as he glared at nothing. "As shocking as this might be to you, I'm not necessarily the easiest person to get along with. So, no. No, I don't know where they are. I don't know where they're going. Because honestly... I don't know _them!"_ He snarled.

" _TONY!"_

" **WHAT?!"** The billionaire shouted, whirling around towards the doorway. He paused as he noticed Pepper standing with her arms folded, obviously the one who had been trying to get his attention, while a shuffling Peter Parker stood next to her. He was fiddling with his fingers again as he stared at the ground.

" _Stark? Stark! Are you hearing me ri-"_

The man quickly pressed the mute button on the earpiece as he took in the teen's bedraggled form. His hair was extra messy today and his face seemed sunken and pale, save for the dark bags hanging under his eyes. The teen stole a quick glance up before lowering it once again, rubbing his arm nervously. "Um...I..I-I can...g-go if you...uh..."

"No." Tony said much too quickly for his liking. "No, it's...it's fine, Peter. I'm just dealing with a douchebag to end all douchebags." He muttered with a roll of his eyes. Peter simply gave a small nod of his head as he continued to rub at his arm.

Tony's face scrunched in thought as he debated whether to end his call with Ross right then and there. After al, it wasn't like he particularly _enjoyed_ their little chats. But, like it or not, he was still the Secretary of State. There would always be consequences.

He glanced back over towards Peter. But what was he supposed to do with the kid in that time? Just send him on his merry way around the Tower. For some reason, sending an unsupervised kid to mill around a building that housed some of the most expensive tech in the _world_ left a bad taste in Tony's mouth. Like he'd said before. He trusted the kid, but not _that_ much.

His little dilemma was solved, however, as Pepper stepped forward. "Actually, do you think I could borrow Peter for a while. I have some work I need to do and there's a _mound_ of files on my desk I need to sort through." She explained, sending a knowing look Tony's way.

 _God, what did I do to earn this woman?_ "Uh...yeah. Yeah, that's fine." He said before glancing back down towards Peter. "Go ahead with Pepper for a while, kid. I'll come and get you when I'm done, 'kay?"

Peter said nothing as he gave another nod.

Pepper _tried_ to place a hand on the teen's shoulder, only to quickly retract it when she noticed the teen flinch away. She glanced back over towards Tony, mouthing a " _be quick"_ before leading the boy out of the room.

Tony watched them go for a moment longer before letting out a small sigh, lifting his hand back up to the earpiece.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm back. Oh, you heard that comment, huh? Well, that just makes me feel so warm inside."

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**03:58 p.m.**

"So how was school today?"

Pepper looked up from her computer when she received no response to the question. Peter was currently sitting at one of the smaller desks lined up against the side of her office, a large stack of yellow files piled next to him.

He was quick in his work, opening one file as he logged the information into the computer before turning to the next. He was fast and efficient, more so than Pepper would expect a teenage boy to be. Not once in the near hour they'd ben there had he said a word. He also made no indication that he'd even heard her.

"Peter?" She called again.

This time, however, his reaction was obvious. He started in his seat as the pages in his hand fell to the desk. He whipped his head around to give the woman a wide-eyed stare before quickly averting his gaze. "Umm..s-sorry. D-did you...need a-anything?" He murmured quietly.

Pepper stared at the teen for a moment before blinking back into reality, clearing her throat as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just asking how school went today." She said in as soft a voice as possible.

Peter regarded her for a moment before giving a small nod. "It was fine." He said softly. "Nothing too eventful."

The woman tilted her head as the teen rubbed circles into the back of his hand, something she'd seen him do more than once. _Well, he's not much of a talker._ She thought to herself. For a moment, Pepper simply took in the boy's appearance. The bags under his eyes were enough to tell her that he hadn't slept in a while, a fact that made her curious in itself. He also seemed to be favoring one arm over the other, something he did well in hiding.

 _Probably cause he's had some practice with that..._ The woman growled internally. Her mind wandered back to the conversation she'd had with Tony and Rhodey earlier that week. This boy was obviously troubled. Hell, one of the main reasons he was here was because of that. The stuttering and nervousness only did more to solidify that fact to the woman.

And yet, she couldn't help but linger on something Tony had said before. " _He's. . . he's a good kid."_

Lord knows Tony was never one to associate himself with children. But if the. . . _eccentric_ billionaire could see something like that in a child he'd only met a handful of times, then there _had_ to be something more to this kid. She just had to find it for herself.

Pepper looked up at the clock before turning back down towards her computer. Quickly making up her mind, the woman pushed her chair back and rose up from her seat. The action made Peter jump slightly, his muscles tensing as the woman walked over. "Come on, let's take a break." She called, holding her hand out.

Peter stared at her for a moment before glancing down at her hand. Pepper noticed the wariness his eyes held, as if he were judging whether or not it was a trick or not. The thought made Pepper's heart clench slightly. She leaned down, moving closer as she gave him a warm smile. "It's okay." She coaxed gently.

The teen hesitated for a moment longer before he slowly slid his hand into hers, allowing the woman to help him up before quickly tucking his arm close to his body once more. Pepper, however, took no offense to the action, simply happy the teen had accepted her offer.

She motioned for the boy to follow her as the pair made their way over towards the elevator. Neither of them said anything as Pepper led the teen into the cafeteria. Lunchtime had long since passed, something Pepper had been sure to check, seeing as the large room was now mostly empty. "Go sit down, alright, Peter? I'll be right back." She called as she motioned for the boy to take a seat at one of the nearby tables. Peter gave a small nod as she moved off.

The teen quietly sat down, bringing his thumb to rub against the back of his hand, the calming motions of his fingers rubbing against the skin seeming to soothe his jittering nerves as he shut his eyes.

A sudden noise in front of him had him jumping for what felt like the twentieth time in the last few minutes. Opening his eyes, he noticed there was now a salad, a bottle of water and a chocolate chip cookie in front of him. He blinking in surprise at the new meal before glancing back up towards Pepper, who was sitting down with an identical spread set up in front of her.

"I...I-I..." Peter stuttered, to which Pepper only smiled. "You looked like you hadn't eaten all day, sweetie."

The teen blushed as he lowered his gaze. "Y...y-you really d-didn't have to do that." He whispered softly. "I don't w-want you to...to worry abou-"

Pepper reached forward, gently placing a hand overtop Peter's. The teen tensed instantly but didn't pull away like before. "It's alright, Peter. I wanted to. It's my treat." She smiled before leaning back, picking up her fork before digging it into her salad. "Besides, you can pick up the next tab." She smirked, giving him a teasing wink.

Peter stared at her for a moment longer before he gave a small grin in return, turning down towards his own meal. Only then did the teen finally begin to realize just how hungry he really was. He hadn't really eaten anything since lunch the day before when Ned packed him an extra sandwich.

Pepper watched the boy wrap a tense hand around the rim of the plastic bowl as he warily shoved a bite into his mouth. The way his shoulders were hunched as well as the tense coiling of his muscles made Pepper wonder just how often the teen was offered any food.

The woman had been quick to notice just how small Peter seemed for his age. He was fourteen, yet he really only reached up to her shoulders. Not to mention the fact that he also looked like he might blow away if you just _looked_ at him a certain way. The baggy clothes and loose-fitting sweaters didn't do much to help either.

 _Hard to imagine there's a superhero hiding in you, sweetie._ She thought to herself. Though if she really thought about it, the teen most likely hid some impressive muscles underneath those baggy clothes, which led her to believe that was the reason behind them in the first place.

At least...she _hoped_ that's what he was covering with those clothes.

The thought made her tighten her grip on her fork.

Nevertheless, she hid her unease in her comforting smile as she glanced back over at Peter. "Well, I'm assuming I'm going to be seeing a lot of you around here. So I guess I should probably get to know you, huh?" She grinned.

Peter, however, didn't seem quite as enthusiastic as her as he stared at a piece of lettuce on his fork. "Why? I'm nothing special." He muttered softly, so softly that Pepper wondered whether or not she was meant to hear it.

Pepper Potts, however, was nothing if not persistent. She shook her hand dismissively. "I'm sure that's not true. You found yourself on Tony's radar, after all. I'd say that's an accomplishment in itself, Peter."

The teen glanced up at her for a moment before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "I...I guess so..." He murmured.

"I know so." She continued. "I've known Tony for _years_ , Peter. And if there's one thing I know about him, it's that he's _never_ one to waste his time on things he thinks aren't worth it." She said with a smirk. "That and his caffeine addiction is through the roof."

Peter gave a small smile at that.

"And in all the time I've known him, he's never _once_ even considered the idea of hiring interns to work around here." She explained, Peter lifting his gaze to stare at her. "But here you are. Not only have you become the first intern to _ever_ work here, you've also managed to peak the interest of one of the most powerful people in the nation."

God she hoped Tony never got wind of this. His head was big enough as it was.

"So I'd say that counts for something." She said with a grin, Peter's large brown eyes boring into her. "Cause you're obviously worth something to him."

For a moment, Peter could only sit there in silence as he took in the woman's words. "Really?" the word came out before his brain could even process it. Pepper couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the question, resting her hand on Peter's once again. "Really." She repeated.

Peter stared back at her, at the calming smile on her face, at the warmth behind her eyes.

(" _I can't promise you anything. Except myself.")_

The ten let out a startled breath as he ripped his hand away, eyes wide in shock as he reared backward, quickly flying up to his feet as he grasped at his chest. Pepper started at the sudden jolt before quickly taking action, rushing around the table as she reached forward. "Peter? Sweetie, are you alright?" She asked, placing a hand on the teen's shuddering form.

" _ **Don't touch me!**_ " Peter roared, flinging himself backwards, away from her touch. The woman reared back in shock at the teen's sudden outburst, watching with pained eyes as he quickly did a double-take, face filling with regret. "I'm sorry!" He gasped, lifting his hands slightly. "I-I...I'm sorry. I...I d-didn't mean to...to-" He couldn't force the words out fast enough.

"Peter!" The woman called, wincing internally as the teen violently flinched, curling in on himself at the loud tone. Quickly righting herself, Pepper slowly and cautiously approached, showing her hands in peace. "It's alright, sweetie." She said as softly and gently as humanly possible. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean to, alright? I just startled you is all. It was my fault, alright. I'm sorry." She said calmly as she continued to step closer.

Peter eyes her warily as she approached, but didn't say anything against it, so Pepper continued. For a moment, the woman considered reaching out for him, but decided against it as she took in his tense posture and coiled muscles.

She understood now. She understood why the teen barely ever spoke, and when he did, it was like pulling teeth to get him to say anything more than a few words. She understood why he never really _looked_ at her. Why he seemed to curl in on himself, as if he were waiting for an attack that would never come. It was obvious now.

He was afraid of her.

The woman could only stare back at the shivering boy in sorrow, eyes filled with pity as she lowered her hands and let out a small sigh. _God, Tony. You really_ _weren't kidding._ The woman thought to herself as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat. Peter gazed at her for a moment before hesitantly doing the same.

The woman glanced down at the salad before her before quickly realizing she'd lost her appetite. Gazing back up at the teen, the woman noticed that the boy was silently pushing the last few pieces of lettuce around the plastic bowl with his fork, resting his cheek on a fist as he gazed solemnly at the remains.

Pepper bit her lip in thought as she fiddled with her fork, the two falling into a silence that neither knew how to break, if at all. The woman finally let out a deep breath as she reached across the table, slowly pushing the cookie towards the teen.

Peter blinked in slight surprise at the action before taking notice of the baked good. His eyes shifted towards the side in a moment of thought before he slowly reached forward to grab the pastry, lowering his gaze back down to the floor as he popped a small piece into his mouth.

Pepper gave a small nod in satisfaction, deciding that was probably all she would be able to get out of the teen that day.

"Thank you."

The woman lifted her head as the small voice reached her ears.

Peter was currently fiddling with his fingers once again, eyes furrowed in concentration as he spoke. "Y...you didn't….didn't have to do t-this." He stuttered out softly. "But I...and umm…" He rubbed at the back of his neck as his face grew a slightly darker shade of pink. "I'm still not very good at this."

The woman gave a comforting smile.

"Just...thank you...for...for this. And for, you know...not freaking out on me." He mumbled, the pink quickly turning a deep shade of red.

Pepper stared at the boy in front of her as she soaked in his words. The genuine gratitude for such a small, trivial act as paying for a lunch made a small grin formed on her face. "It's true, you know." She finally uttered.

Peter glanced up at her in confusion.

"What I said before." She continued. "About Tony seeing something in you." She paused for a moment before continuing, giving the boy a gentle grin. "I get what he means now."

Peter blinked up at her with wide eyes, slowly opening his mouth to speak once more, only to squeak as a new voice filtered through the air loudly. "There you are!" The pair turned towards the entrance, watching as Tony walked over. "Did you really have to make me search all over the goddamn tower for you?" HE mumbled, throwing a small glare Pepper's way.

The woman didn't back down from the challenging stare as she folded her arms. "When you take an hour to finish your work, then I'd say _yes I do."_ She smirked back, Tony giving a roll of his eyes at the woman's comeback. "Whatever, I want my intern back." He pouted not unlike a five-year-old who'd just been scolded.

Peter couldn't help the amused grin that fell onto his face as he watched the pair exchange light glares before Tony finally gave, moving over towards the teen. "Come on, Peter. We know when we're not wanted." He grumbled overdramatically, Pepper letting out a scoff as Peter rose up from his seat.

Following Tony over towards the exit, the teen glanced over his shoulder, giving the woman a small wave.

Pepper couldn't stop the smile that formed on her face as she gave a wave of her own, watching as the teen disappeared.

* * *

**Friday - March 11, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Lab 1**

**04:24 p.m.**

Tony fought to ignore his throbbing headache as he led Peter down towards the labs. Safe to say, his little chat with Ross had left him a little miffed and annoyed, not to mention he now had a wondrous desire to bludgeon himself to death with a blunt object.

Ever since their escape from the Raft, Ross had been all over Tony's ass, barking at him to track and locate his ex-teammates.

Of course, Tony had no plans in mind to try finding the Rogue Avengers. Cause finding them meant he'd have to see them. And he wasn't about to be doing that anytime soon.

In all honesty, Tony really just wanted to forget about them.

But of course, Ross couldn't have that. So every other day, Tony either had to dodge, ignore or reluctantly indulge the man in his little rants about how those felons deserved to be strung up or shot. He'd also try his hardest to convince Tony to help in the search.

Really all those conversations did was empty Tony's medicine cabinet of all the headache medication they had. That...and one certain special fridge in the back reaches of the kitchen.

However, Tony had come to realize something in all the conversations he'd held with Ross. Each and every time the man asked him for information, Tony always denied him that pleasure. And even when he did give him something, it was usually more times than not, a lie.

He didn't know why he did it. In all truthfulness, simply telling the Secretary the truth would most likely be the easiest thing for him. It'd get Ross of his back and he would have the pleasure of dropping this irksome topic from his mind.

So why did he always lie?

The man simply told himself that he didn't want to give Ross the satisfaction of getting to him. Might as well make it a bit of a challenge for him in finding the rogue Avengers. It couldn't be because he was protecting them.

They didn't deserve that.

No. It was just to screw with Ross. Just that. Nothing else.

It _couldn't_ be anything else.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony blinked back to reality as the small voice dragged him from his thoughts. Glancing around, the man noticed they'd arrived at the lab without him even realizing it.

He cleared his throat before placing his usual smirk onto his face. "Right, we should probably be doing some actual work, huh?" He glanced down at Peter.

The teen blinked up at him.

"Right…" Tony muttered as he led the boy into the room. "Take a seat, Peter." He instructed, the boy instantly obeying as he sat down at one of the workbenches. "I'll be right back."

The man moved away from the teen as he walked further into the lab. Quickly entering the restricted area of his lab, which was cut off from everybody but himself, the man moved over towards the back wall and brushed his fingers over the small keypad installed into the sleek surface.

Punching in the ten-digit code, Tony watched as the wall opened up to reveal a secret room inside the structure. Walking inside, the billionaire rummaged around until he found what he was looking for.

For a moment, Tony stared down at the plans in his hands, debating whether or not he really wanted to go through with this. The man craned his neck out to gaze back out over the lab. His eyes fell on Peter, who was patiently sitting where the billionaire had left him, twiddling his fingers as he sat silently.

Tony let out a sigh as he rolled the plans up. _Screw it, why not?_ He muttered as he exited the secret room, punching in the code once more as he stepped away.

Peter perked as the man fell into his line of sight once again, jumping as Tony slammed a pile of papers down in front of him.

"Wha-"

"You said you wanted to learn. Well no better way than to do it yourself." The man cut him off with a smirk as he pushed the main plans into Peter's hands.

The teen fumbled with the papers for a moment before clearing them in his hands, spreading them so that he could read what they said. It didn't take long for his eyes to widen. "No way…" He breathed before turning towards Tony. "Are these…?"

"Plans for a miniature arc reactor? Yes, I think they are." The billionaire snarked as he moved to sit across from the teen.

Peter blubbered in his seat as he stared wide-eyed at the pages. "B...but I...I-I…"

"You did say you wanted to learn, right?"

"Well, yeah! But this is...and I mean…" He trailed off before turning to stare at the man. "Can I really?" He asked in such a genuinely hopeful voice that Tony almost laughed.

"Like I said, kid. Best way to learn is to do it yourself." He murmured before his eyes widened. "Uh, with my supervision of course." He added quickly. "I doubt your father would be very happy if I deliver home a pile of charred skin and burned clothes that was once his son."

Peter gave a small laugh, a welcome substitute for the usual uncomfortableness he displayed whenever Richard was mentioned.

The teen glanced back down at the plans displayed before him before tilting his head back up at the man. "Is this a test?"

"Yep!" Tony said without hesitation. "Just think of it as a pop-quiz to earn my respect and reverence." The man said overdramatically.

Peter gave a small smile. "And just how many people have passed that quiz?"

"Very few, actually. So no pressure!"

Tony watched as the teen smiled, a notion that almost made the billionaire do the same. Almost. "Well, why don't you go ahead and get started on that? You can use whatever you need to around here once you finish up with your calculations. Take as much time as you need." He explained as he stood up. "And please do try not to blow yourself up. I'd really hate to-"

The man paused in his long-winded remarks as he caught sight of something on the teen's sleeve. There, on his left forearm, the sweater sleeve seemed to be stained with something that almost resembled-

"Are you bleeding?"

Peter looked up at the man, following his gaze to his forearm. Tony watched as the teen's face quickly morphed into one of dismay and fear as he hastily tried to hide the limb from the man's line of sight. "Uhh...it's...i-it's nothing." He babbled.

Tony quirked an eyebrow as he moved closer. "Come on, kid. There's A med kid over here." He motioned for the teen to follow him over to the side of the room, assuming the teen had just accidentally cut himself without realizing.

Peter, however, seemed to have other plans as he gave a nervous smile. "T-that's alright...M-Mr. Stark. I'm okay. Y-you don't n-need...need to worry about it."

Tony shook off the remark as he pulled the red medical bag off of the wall - a device which had been forcefully installed in his lab by the conjoined forces of Pepper and Rhodey in July of last year. Safe to say, there had been many explosions that year.

"It's fine, Peter. Just let me check it out so Pepper doesn't chew my head off."

The teen shook his head. "Really! I'm...I'm good, Mr. Stark. It's...it's nothing big. J-just a little scratch. It'll...b-be gone in a sec, anyways."

Tony narrowed his eyes. The teen was very adamant in refusing his help. _Too adamant._ He thought to himself as the teen continued to deflect. Unfortunately for him, Tony was the resident champion of deflecting. So his pathetic attempt only made red flags flare up in the billionaire's mind. _What are you hiding, kid?_

"It's fine, Peter. Come here." He said a little more forcefully.

"Seriously, it's not a b-big deal. I can just-"

_"Peter."_

Tony didn't miss the way the teen flinched at the harsh tone he'd used, nor did it make him feel very good. Nevertheless, he continued on. "Come here."

The teen's face quickly scrunched in nervousness as he ducked his head and slowly crossed the room. Tony motioned for the teen to sit down on the table surface so that he could have good access to the injury, whatever the extent.

However, Tony wasn't expecting to roll up the teen sleeve to find a sloppily-wrapped bandage soaked in blood covering the limb. His eyes furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wrap. "What the hell…?" He breathed as he moved to unwrap the bandages, taking notice of the slightly panicked look on Peter's face as he did so.

As he finally pulled the bandage away, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the sight before him. "Holy shit!" He shouted.

The teen's arm looked like a mangled piece of meat. The skin was rubbed raw, flaring a bright red color that contrasted against the pale papery white of the teen's natural complexion. Various scratches marred the skin and a deep, harsh slash mark stretched from the teen's wrist up to the base of his elbow. And the blood. Fresh and dried blood mixed together as it coated the teen's limb.

"What the hell is this, Peter?" He shouted, forgetting to mind the volume of his voice as he stared back up at the teen, who winced underneath the man's gaze. "I..I-I…" The teen stuttered softly.

Tony stared at him for a moment longer before moving to grab some of the antiseptic wipes and medical-grade bandages that made the previous ones look like cheap toilet paper.

Peter hissed in pain as the man carefully dragged the cloth along the arm, clearing it of the fresh and dried blood that had covered the limb. As he worked, the man's face held a look of anger and confusion, something Peter did not miss.

"You better start explaining, Parker." Tony growled out, glaring back up at the teen, who looked like he might throw up. "How the hell did this happen? Was it something on patrol?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod of his head.

Tony turned his head away as his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I didn't get any messages from the suit…" He murmured more to himself than to anyone else. "And shouldn't this have healed by now if it happened on patrol?" He asked the teen harshly, racking his brain to remember the extent of Peter's powers the teen had told him about. _Super healing was one of his powers, right?_

Peter kept his gaze locked on the ground as his voice shook. "Well, I-I...I haven't really….r-really, umm...gotten m-much sleep….l-lately and I d-didn't...eat too much y-yesterday or today s-so….so my...my powers aren't really….really at full s-strength right...right n-now." He stuttered out, seeming to choke on the words as he spewed them out.

Tony regarded the teen for a moment before he huffed, giving a shake of his head as he went back to working on the teen's arm, eyes hard and frustrated.

It took a moment of deep breaths before he spoke again. "If something like this happens on patrol again, I need to hear about it, alright? Cause Peter Parker may not be my responsibility, but Spider-Man sure as hell is." He snapped before giving a scoff of disbelief. "God, what the hell were you thinking? I mean, this isn't just some little scratch that'll heal in a blip like this." He snapped his fingers. "This is an actual, wound, Peter. This is serious!" He shouted.

The teen took in a shaky breath. "I...I thought I c-could handle...handle it."

"Yeah, well you obviously couldn't!" Tony snapped.

He shook his head as he continued to clean the arm, his frustrations that had been building throughout the entire day, the entire _week_ all boiling over. "Christ, how could you be so stupid?!" He shouted, throwing the soiled, blood-stained wipe to the ground before picking up another one. "You do _not_ keep these things from me, you understand?" He growled. "And if you ever think of trying to lie to me about something like this again-" He snapped, glaring up at the teen, only to pause in his rant as he finally took in the sight of the boy before him.

Peter's eyes were shut tightly, his chest heaving slightly as the teen's breath wavered. His shoulders shook as his free hand dug into the metal edge of the table. Small pricks of water collected at the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

The words were so broken, whispered so fearfully that Tony stopped working.

The man stared at the shivering teen before him for a moment longer before he let out a dejected sigh, silently going back to work on the boy's arm. After he finished cleaning the blood off, he carefully wrapped the arm in bandages before gently setting it down, Peter quickly whisking it close to his chest as he seemed to curl up defensively.

Tony said nothing as he silently packed up the bag, placing it back on the hook on the wall before turning back to the teen. For a minute, the man simply stood there, unsure as to what he should do. After a moment, he blew out a breath, sitting down beside the boy as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Why didn't you just tell me in the first place?" He asked in a much softer voice than before, all previous anger gone.

Peter cracked open his eyes as he carefully took in the man before him. After a second, the teen slowly lifted his head as he stared down at the arm in his lap. "I…" He started before glancing over towards Tony.

"I didn't think you'd care."

The billionaire's eyes widened slightly at that. The words shocked him, but not as much as the tone of voice behind them. There was no malice, no hate, no judgment in the words. It was the genuine shock behind them that made Tony rear back. It was almost as if the teen was confused at the man's concern.

"I…" He trailed off, unsure as to how he should even respond. "Of...course I... _care_ , Peter." He started, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as he deliberated how to handle the current situation.

After a minute, the man sighed and rested his elbows on his knees as he hunched forward. Peter did the same a moment later.

"Look...I get this is kind new for you...To be honest, it's kind of new for the _both_ of us." He confessed. "But I can't have you lying to me, Peter. Not about stuff like this, alright?" He said, turning towards the teen. "If you get hurt, I need to know about it. I need to know so I can help you."

Peter stared back at him.

"I don't know how you handled this stuff before, kid, but things are gonna have to change. I don't want to see you dealing with this crap by yourself anymore, because you don't have to, alright?" He said, hoping some of this was getting through to the teen.

Peter lowered his gaze. "I didn't want to bother you."

Tony blew a breath out. "It's...I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna take some adjusting. But...I'll get used to it. We'll get used to it, kid." He explained. "Just…" He trailed off for a minute.

"Don't be afraid to talk to me, alright? I'll listen. I might not be good at it, but I'll try." He said. And he meant it. He actually... _meant_ it. That _alone_ was enough to shock the both of them.

"But no more hiding stuff like this, okay? Spider-Man may be my responsibility, but...considering him and Peter Parker are one in the same..." He paused as he wondered where he was really going with this. What his point was, if he really even had one. He dragged a hand down his tired face. "God, this is so messed up..." He mumbled more to himself than anyone else.

"Look, kid. Like it or not, we're in this together now. And if you get hurt...if you're out there with the suit _I_ made you, fighting criminals _I_ allowed you to fight...and you get _hurt_..." He hesitated for a moment. "I feel like that's on me." He lowered his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Next time you get hurt on patrol, be it a...sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, or heck even a sore muscle, I need to hear about it."

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Ah! None of that." Tony muttered. "No, ' _sirs'._ I already put up with the ' _Mr. Stark'_ nonsense. I do not need to be reminded of my father whenever I'm talking to you, 'kay?"

The teen nodded, Tony giving one of his own. "Good." He breathed out, a wash of relief flowing through him.

For a minute, the two sat in silence, simply taking in the other's presence as they took a moment to relax. Finally, after a second, Tony folded his arms over his chest. "I really can't have this again. Pepper will kill me if I break my new intern. I literally _just_ got you. He moaned overdramatically. "Besides, we just got these floors redone."

Peter couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah...I'd hate to dirty up your pretty floors with my blood." He muttered softly.

Tony let out a small breathy laugh at that as he turned towards the teen. "Was that an air of cheekiness I detected?" He chuckled with wide eyes.

Peter grinned and turned away. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He giggled before hopping off the table, Tony quickly doing the same.

"Mm-hmm...just watch yourself, Parker. Don't go getting all cocky." Tony muttered with a smirk as he moved over towards his desk, Peter going to sit with the blueprints once more. The teen couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. "Oh, don't worry. You have enough cockiness for the both of us." He whispered out with a grin as he turned towards the prints.

Tony couldn't help but smile at that.

* * *

_9) I Will Never Ask For Help. . . . . from anybody but Tony Stark._


	7. Evasive Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn't help the small amused scoff that fell from his lips as the man continued. "Anyway, I already have plenty of meeting I have to attend every other month. I think she can handle these ones without me." He folded his arms over his chest. "Besides, I have better things to do with my time."
> 
> Peter furrowed a brow and cast a small, questioning glance around him. "You mean like hiding out in broom closets?"
> 
> . . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> "...yes."

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Gymnasium**

**11:44 a.m.**

Peter felt a small smile form on his face as he watched Ned trudge over, face contorted in frustration and agitation. "Dodgeball is the worst thing to ever happen to schools nationwide." The boy grumbled as he plopped down on the bleachers next to Peter.

"I think you could just end that sentence with _'the worst thing to ever happen'_ \- period." MJ mumbled from her seat above the two as she continued to draw in her sketchbook. Like Peter, she'd been one of the first people to get out. Though of course, that was bound to happen when you literally just walked up to the front of the line and spread your arms out like a sacrificial martyr.

Peter on the other hand...well, he was just happy to be sitting down.

The teen's hair was messy, more than usual as it hung down around his eyes, which were glassy and dark. Deep, purple bags set underneath the skin, the discoloration easy to see when you compared it to the rest of Peter's face, which was ashy and white-washed.

All in all, it was obvious the teen had had a rough morning. It's just that nobody really knew the true extent of said roughness.

Peter was wearing long sleeves under his gym shirt again.

Ned folded his arms over his chest as he glared out at the commencing battle on the polished gym floor. "This game is literally the worst. All it is is a way for the strong populars to show off."

Mj quirked an eyebrow as she lifted her gaze. "That, and it just gives them a reason to pummel losers in the face without any consequences." SHe noted, watching as Flash hurled another rubber ball into the face of an unsuspecting nerd. Damn...as if those glasses weren't crooked enough already.

The girl glanced over towards Peter, noticing how he had yet to make a comment, only to pause and sit up as she finally took in the sight of the teen. Considering gym was the first class either of the three friends had with each other that day, she had yet to see him before this. But now...now she kind of wished she hadn't.

"Peter?" She called, taking note of how the boy's slumped form barely moved as he glanced over at her. There was no trace of the teen's usual shy, happy radiance. He almost looked... _dead._ "...yeah?" He called softy when MJ hesitated.

Ned glanced over, having heard Michelle's voice, only to blink in shock as he finally stopped to take in Peter's appearance. "Whoa, dude..." He said softly, knowing from experience that Peter didn't really respond well to when he shouted. At least, not when he was like this. "Are you okay? You look like an extra on the Walking Dead."

Peter merely blinked as he glanced over at his friend. "M'fine." He mumbled.

MJ narrowed her eyes at that. "Really? Cause it _looks_ like you might keel over in a few seconds." She chided as she folded her arms over her chest. However, the main thing that concerned her was the fact that Peter didn't even try to reassure her in his usual way of tripping over his words and making a complete fool of himself.

He just shrugged and turned away.

Michelle opened her mouth to continue, ony to pause as she felt a hand come to rest on her knee. Glancing down, she noticed Ned was now looking at her. The teen stole one last glance over at Peter before he turned back to her. Ned gave a small shake of his head, eyes furrowed in concern as he threw her a knowing glance towards Peter. MJ knew what that look meant. Ned had given it to her too many times for her to count.

_Just drop it...please._

Michelle Jones was nothing if not observant. When you don't have many people to talk to, you resort to listening to what _others_ have to say _around_ you. While most people were talking away and flying by, she would wait. Wait and watch. And _boy_ did she see a lot.

She saw the small puffs Mrs. Harris would take during lunch behind the dumpster where she assumed nobody could see her. She saw Missy Madson checking her phone for answers during the Chemistry quiz. She heard Megan Hill and Brian Turner plotting to graffiti the boys' locker room two days before it actually happened. She heard secrets. She saw hidden truths.

To her, everyone around her was a potential art subject. Though it was through her carefully observing them could she really tell just _how_ to draw them. With dark, jagged lines and harsh shading, or with soft, smooth curves and gentle features.

However, there was one particular subject that had caught her attention on more than one occasion.

Peter Parker had always been a strange kid, even in middle school. She'd never talked to him, not back then at least. Though she wondered if anyone really _had._ He had been even shyer than he was now. In fact, the only person she ever remembered seeing around the kid was Ned. Even back then, the girl had been quick to pick up on a few things. The reclusive demeanor, the tense posture, the firm silence.

Safe to say, she had had her suspicions.

Two years later, those suspicions had evolved to full-blown warning bells.

Michelle wasn't stupid. She wasn't blind either. Every day Peter would show up to school with a new bruise on his face, every flinch he gave, every eye he refused to meet, every sentence he stuttered on was just another nail in her coffin of hope. Hope that she was just being paranoid. Hope that perhaps her observation skills were malfunctioning.

They definitely were not.

Maybe _that_ was when the girl began talking to the two teens. They'd been on the Decathlon team for a few months and had barely spoken any words to each other. Then one day, MJ sat in between Peter and Ned instead of her usual seat and just made herself at home. To the two boys, the action was completely random, but for Michelle...well, she only _wished_ it had been random.

From then on, the girl had spent more and more time with the two losers, actually finding herself _enjoying_ their company. That was something she'd never really experienced before. Sure, she'd had friendships before, but never any she'd actually wanted to continue. Usually, once the school year ended, it was goodbye Friend #13. _H_ _ello,_ #14.

Somehow, Michelle doubted that would be the case this year.

At first, the girl had been unsure of her actions. After all, she didn't know a single goddamn thing about the two boys. Okay...that wasn't completely true. After all, she'd been watching them for two years. But, fine! She'd never actually _hung_ around them before.

But after a while, the girl began to warm up to the nerds. She found out that Ned was basically the human equivalent to a giant teddy bear. The teen somehow always had a grin on his face and warm greetings in his pocket. He was always excited about something and was constantly trying to make everyone around him just as happy and excited as he was all the time.

It was a refreshing contrast to the usual bitchy, backstabbing, dickishness that was the rest of her peers and classmates.

And Peter . . . well. . .

She'd never met anyone like Peter before.

In the beginning, the teen was how he'd always been. He was quiet and nervous around her, picking and choosing his words carefully and more often than not, hiding behind Ned, allowing the extrovert to speak for him. But after a few months of Decathlon passed, she found that Peter slowly began to warm up to her. He would talk to her, albeit with a horrible stutter, and attempt to hold conversation. It helped that her carefree, flippant attitude seemed to relax and calm the boy's fluctuating nerves. Soon after, she found that the boy would actually seek her out simply to be in her company. This, Michelle had expected.

She did _not_ , however, expect what came next.

She didn't expect to appreciate his soft-spoken voice and kind words. She didn't expect to laugh at his snarky jokes, finding that the kid was actually pretty funny when he chose to speak. She didn't expect to discover that the teen was one of the sweetest, kindest people she'd ever meet. She didn't expect to cherish their friendship as much as she now did.

Michelle Jones wasn't stupid. Michelle Jones was nothing if not observant. And Michelle Jones loved her friends more than anything.

Which was why Ned's silent plead for her to _drop_ _it_ made her want to scream. But instead, she threw the teen a knowing glare as she suddenly rose up from her seat. Ned started at the quick movement, balking as he watched the girl walk down the bleachers towards Peter. However, instead of snapping at him with harsh words and fierce glares, Ned watched with wide eyes as the she silently sat down right next to Peter.

The boy slowly glanced over at her, watching as she turned to face him. The hard features of her face seemed to melt as she gave him a small smile, eyes filling with something Peter had never seen in them before. Whatever it was...it made the crumbling wall inside of him crack just a little more as he shut his eyes, feeling small tears pool in the corners as his chest gave a small shudder, his arms coming to wrap tightly around his midsection.

Michelle said nothing as she placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. She watched from out of the corner of her eye as Ned scooted closer as well, wrapping a steadying hand against Peter's back. MJ let out a small sigh as she rested her cheek against the teen's shoulder, gently rubbing small circles with her thumb against his skin.

For a while, though it might have only been for a few seconds, the three friends simply sat in the silence, relishing in each other's comforting company as the sounds of a warring dodgeball game sounded far off and distant.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Flash just got hit in the face. . . . .guess this game does have a _few_ perks."

Both Michelle and Ned raised their heads to look at Peter as he watched the commencing game, a soft smile now playing on his lips as he spoke. MJ stared at him for a moment longer before letting out a snort, which soon turned into a full-blown laugh. The two boys were quick to follow as the three friends began to howl with laughter, many heads turning their direction as the other kids gave them quizzical looks before turning back towards their game.

It was just the losers. Nothing important.

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 3**

**1:24 p.m.**

**"** _Alleged reports place The Falcon circling over the outer buildings of Brooklyn at around 11:23 p.m last night. The images that were sent to us are fuzzy, but multiple eyewitness accounts verify that the recently-named fugitive was spotted."_

Nobody in the classroom made a sound as the news report from the night before was projected onto the screen. Mr. Harrington stood next to the projector, face unreadable as usual as he watched the report along with his students, Peter included.

" _Nearly a month has passed since the controversial decision to name many members of the Avengers as fugitives, a choice that has led to a wave of backlash and protest. Nevertheless, police assure that they are doing everything in their power to bring down any and all breakers of the law, Avengers or not."_

"This is such _bullshit!"_ Flash snarled as report ended and the lights were brought back up. Peter blinked as he tried to adjust his eyes to the harsh switch in lighting while the rest of the students turned to Flash. He was usually the most vocal in their class.

"How could the police actually think they're the enemies? I mean, are they just _that_ stupid? No wonder Spidey has to do all the work for them!" He practically shouted.

Betty nodded her head. "I know, right? They're all making such a big deal over nothing. I mean, so what if the Avengers broke one little law? It was a stupid law anyway." She muttered while fiddling with the tips of her perfectly cut nails. Many students nodded their heads while others looked unsure.

Ever since the high-profile topic of the Sokovia Accords and the Rogue Avengers started, it had basically become the focal point of Mr. Harrington's Current Events class. It had also become one of Peter's least favorite moments of the day. The last thing he needed was Flash spouting off some nonsense and ill-placed knowledge on topics he had no right butting in on.

But he wasn't about to tell him that, now was he?

Another popular, more reserved girl, Gwen Stacy quirked an eyebrow as she stared at the picture still being displayed on the board. It was a horrible grainy picture of the sky, a small fuzzy winged figure flying above a number of buildings. "Are we sure that isn't just a picture of an actual falcon?" She asked.

Flash ignored her as he continued to rant. "How long are they going to keep pretending that the Avengers are the bad guys?"

"As long as they _are."_

All heads in the class turned towards Michelle, who was lazily sketching in her book. Peter tilted his head. MJ usually wasn't one to speak up about this sort of thing. It wasn't that she didn't have anything to say, it's just that most of the time, she didn't _care_ enough to. That didn't seem to be the case today.

"What are you talking about?" Flash muttered, narrowing his eyes.

MJ lifted her head, sharp eyes trailing onto Flash. "I'm talking about the fact that the Avengers broke the law. Stupid or not, it's still the law. So, of course, they're criminals. They did what every other criminal does. Disregard all rules and regulation and go their own way." She explained. "The only difference this time is that the law decided to push back."

Ned furrowed his brow. "So are you saying they deserve to be treated this way?" He asked.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "They're being treated like every other rule-breaker. I don't see the problem."

Flash grit his teeth as he turned fully around to face her. "The _problem,_ Jones, is that they _aren't_ your average rule breakers. They're the frikkin _Avengers!_ "

"They're saved the world like a bazillion times." Another kid, Jason Ionello, chimed in.

Sally rolled her eyes. "It was like, only _two_ times, man."

"Still!"

Peter glanced back at Mr. Harrington, who was moving back over towards his desk. The laid-back teacher, who was also the sponsor for the Decathlon team, usually didn't interfere much with the discussions they held. He liked to give his kids free range to say what they felt about the more current matters. This was only one of the reasons he was most people's favorite teacher.

A member of the Decathlon team, Charles, lifted his head. "I don't know. She kind of has a point. Even superheroes shouldn't be above the law."

Flash glared at him. "So you're saying they should be treated like the _other_ skumbag robbers and thieves?" He snapped. "Look, the point is that they're _superheroes_! This stupid law is just messing with them." He stated like he knew everything about the fact. "They're not the bad guys here."

"So who is?" Betty Brant asked, now addressing the rest of the class.

"Duh, the government!" Flash threw out. "They're the ones that split the Avengers up _and_ are pushing for the arrest of the others so it obviously has to be them!"

Peter let out a sigh as he rested a cheek against his fist. This class was becoming less and less of Current Events and more Conspiracy Theories 101 with each passing day. Honestly, he was getting a _little_ tired of it.

Gwen narrowed her eyes in thought. "That's another thing I'm still a little confused on. If what you're saying is true-"

"It is."

" _If_ it is-" She continued, throwing a glare in Flash's direction. "-then how come the other Avengers aren't doing anything to prove their teammates innocence. If they were as _wronged_ as you claim they were, then how come we aren't hearing from people like Tony Stark about how we need to rally behind them?" She asked.

Nobody said anything at that. It wasn't a secret that Tony Stark hadn't shown much of his face to the media after the announcement of the Sokovia Accords as well as the update on the status of the Avengers. The usually exuberant and flashy media mascot had been noticeably quiet. That _alone_ had people talking. In fact, there were even some bogus conspiracies online that Tony had died during the skirmish with the other Avengers and that _that_ was the reason they were on the run and that the government was trying to cover it up with the Sokovia Accords.

Peter had to give people props. They could really be creative when they wanted to be.

However, he was pulled from his thoughts as his Spidey Senses flared up. He ducked out of the way right as the pencil flew by his ear. He turned back around to glare at Flash, who was smirking triumphantly at him. "What do you want?"

The teen narrowed his eyes. "I've been calling your name, Parker. What, you high or something?"

"Isn't that more _your_ thing?" Peter muttered before his brain could catch up with him. Flash had obviously heard him, and judging by the snickers around him, the rest of the class had as well. The dark-skinned boy glared at him and clenched his fists angrily. _Nice job, Peter, you IDIOT!_

However, Flash was quick to replace the angered look with a smug one as he grinned. "As I was saying _before,_ I wanted to know if Tony Stark has told you anything on this stuff." He said, his voice holding an air of contempt and superiority.

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "It's just that you're such _good_ friends with him, I thought maybe he told you something on this." He gave Peter a knowing look. "Unless of course...he _doesn't_ tell you stuff." He fiddled with another pencil he'd fished out of his backpack. "But the only way he _wouldn't_ tell you stuff is if you weren't there to _hear it!_ " He chuckled. "But I mean, that's _clearly_ not the case, cause you have your _internship, right?"_ He asked, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Peter could practically _see_ the bait Flash was dangling in front of his face. A quick glance around the classroom told him that everyone was now staring at him, wondering how he would respond. The numerous sets of eyes on him made an uncomfortable prickle run down his spine, but he quickly swallowed his nerves down. The last thing he needed was more backlash from Flash, which is _exactly_ what he'd get if he chickened out now.

Instead, the teen simply shrugged his shoulders. "No. He hasn't said anything about this to me." He settled on. "Though I doubt this is the kind of thing you talk to your employees about anyways."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ned and MJ giving him proud smiles. The uncomfortable prickle settled down at that. Flash, however, did not. "That's bull, Parker. You just don't know cause you don't know _him!"_ He growled, frustrations bubbling at the fact that Peter hadn't taken the bait.

The boy in return merely folded his arms across his chest as he glared down at his desk. He was really getting tired of this today "As shocking as you may find this, Flash, deep personal problems are not the kind of thing interns fix for their bosses." He growled. "Not that you'd know anything about that." He muttered under his breath, though it was obvious that everyone had heard it if only by the way a collective snicker sounded out around the room. It wasn't a secret that Flash had applied for an internship at Stark Industries _loads_ of times. Safe to say, he'd never even come _close_ to getting accepted.

Peter was quick to realize just how open he was being, hastily shutting it down even quicker. Last thing he needed was that defensive attitude following him home. However, Flash seemed very opposed to letting it go as the teen hastily stood up from his seat. Once again, Peter took note of the slight blush around his cheeks as the class continued to snicker. "You got something you want to say to me, Penis?!" He snarled, eyes blazing as he threateningly stepped closer.

"Alright, alright, kids. Let's settle down." Mr. Harrington called, rising up from his seat. "Flash, knock it off. Nobody needs your tough-guy attitude right now." The man scolded. Flash glanced over at the teacher, giving Peter one last hateful look before slumping down in his seat with a huff.

Peter let out a dejected sigh as he mentally kicked himself for getting so careless with his words. He noticed the small look of concern Mr. Harrington was giving him and gave him a small reassuring nod.

One thing about Mr. Harrington that set him apart from the other teachers was the fact that he seemed much more observant than the others. He was always quick to steer attention and focus away from the shy boy whenever he could, plus he always seemed to be the first to reprimand Flash for his threats and insults. It was pretty obvious that the teacher had taken a liking to the shy teen.

Peter wondered if it was merely out of pity. He was willing to bet it was.

Well...if it kept Flash off his back for at least _one_ class of the day...

Peter ran his fingers gingerly over the fabric of his jacket. Even through the thick layers of the material, he could feel the bumps in his skin from where the scars were forming. Running his hand down to his wrist, the teen traced his finger over the fresh injection sights near his wrist. Peter let out a small sigh and placed his head in his hand, running his fingers through his curls.

Today had started out as a pretty shit day, he couldn't lie. As he moved his hand to rub at the back of his neck, Peter gave a silent prayer of thanks to a force he no longer believed in that today was Wednesday. God knew he really couldn't face going anywhere _near_ his house for the next hours. Not after the morning he'd had.

His fingers ran over the scarring incision mark running along the back of his neck. The _fresh_ incision mark.

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Lobby**

**3:02 p.m.**

Peter placed his badge on the scanner and watched as the blockades shot down into the ground, allowing him to slip through the metal barriers. " _Hello, Peter. A pleasure to see you again."_ The teen smiled up towards the ceiling as FRIDAY's comforting voice filtered down. "Hi, FRIDAY. Nice to...uh... _hear_ you? I guess..." He mumbled unsurely before walking farther into the building.

"You _still_ haven't found him yet?"

Peter's ears perked at the recognizably annoyed voice sounding from one of the waiting rooms. He blinked in mild surprise, hesitating slightly before deciding to continue on.

"No! I swear, that jackass better still be in the building or I swear I am going to-" Rhodey was quick to cut himself off from saying anything too incriminating as both he and Pepper watched as Peter unexpectedly entered the room, a confused look now marring his face as he stared back at the two clearly aggravated adults facing off against each other.

"Umm...am...am I interrupting s-something?" The teen whispered out meekly.

Pepper smoothed out her slightly wrinkled skirt as she cleared her throat. "No...no, it's fine, Peter. Come on in." She said in a much calmer voice than before, not wanting to make the teen nervous. "Right, well..." The boy's eyes shifted over towards Rhodey, the man making a nervous twinge jolt in his chest. He didn't know the Colonel all that well.

That didn't bode well for him.

"I...I w-was just wondering if...if you knew where Mr. Stark is."

Rhodey let out a small scoff as he folded his arms. "Yeah, that's what we'd like to know." He muttered. At Peter's cocked eyebrow, the man elaborated. "We're trying to find him, but so far we've had no luck."

Pepper let out an aggravated sigh. "We have an SI Board of Directors meeting today and Tony's _supposed_ to be present for _this_ one." She growled out, still sore at the fact that the billionaire had left her alone to face off against those vultures disguised as directors for the last few meetings. _Yeah, well not this time._ The woman thought to herself. _This time he's suffering with me._ She plotted, ignoring how maniacal and crazy those thoughts made her seem.

Whatever, she was totally fine.

The woman pushed a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. "Anyways, we're pretty sure he's holed up _somewhere_ in the Tower, so we're trying to find him." SHe explained, leaving out the fact that they also had most of the staff vying to locate the billionaire as well, along with the security guards and even a few of the automated robot helpers around the labs.

. . .

 _What?_ She was _not_ letting him off so easy this time. He _would_ suffer with her!

The teen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, internally wincing as his fingers brushed up against his scar. "Umm...couldn't you just. . . . I-I don't know...maybe just ask F-FRIDAY or something?" He asked.

Rhodey huffed in annoyance that Peter hoped wasn't aimed at him. "We tried that. Apparently, that jackwad set up some new protocol that hinders her from disclosing his location per his orders." He explained with an agitated grunt.

Peter tilted his head at the comical scene before him as Rhodey muttered something about checking the labs again, the man disappearing from sight a moment later. Despite the irritated looks that had adorned their faces, Peter could detect a trace of concern etched into their features. Of course, he most likely would not have picked up on it had he not been close enough to see the nervous twitching of Pepper's fingers or the constant motion of her hand continuously straightening out her already-pristine hair.

Peter knew enough about reading people to notice the woman was nervous about something. Peter suspected she was not looking for Mr. Stark just to scold him about some stupid meeting. No. This was about something else.

But he wasn't just going to go ask her, now was he?

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the teen shrugged his shoulders. "I can go and check the office floors if you want." He spoke softly.

Pepper, having been staring distractedly at her phone, glanced up at Peter's voice. Taking a second to register his words, the woman smiled. "Thank you, sweetie." She called as Peter began to make his way over towards the elevator. "Just notify FRIDAY if you find him and I'll come and maul him myself." She muttered.

The teen gave a small smile. "Guess I have that to look forward to, then." He mused before stepping into the elevator. With a few kind words to FRIDAY, the elevator was quickly ascending. Peter stepped out into the quiet, empty hallway as the doors opened up.

The room was mainly divided into two parts. To the right of the elevator, there was a stylish, modernly set-up waiting room, complete with sofas, tables and a few books and magazines. To the left of the set-up and the central hall, there was a long, transparent wall that was split down the middle by a single solid, grey-colored wall.

Walking down the hallway, Peter inferred that the wall separated the space into two main offices: Tony's and Pepper's. Peering in through the glass walls, Peter noticed that both rooms were empty. In fact, the entire hall was devoid of all life as Peter glanced around the room. Though he assumed that was to be expected considering this floor was most likely restricted to the more higher-level people of the building. And of course, the company CEO and owner would be pretty high up on that list.

Such a realization had Peter quickly fretting over whether or not he was even allowed up here. After all, FRIDAY obviously wasn't one to shy him away from any restricted areas if Mr. Stark's lab had been any indication. The teen wondered whether or not the AI did that with everyone.

Quickly deciding to check the rest of the room and bolt, the teen began walking down the rest of the long hallway. As he did, Peter thought back to what Pepper had said. He found it hard to imagine Mr. Stark hiding out in some random corner of the building just to get out of going to some meeting so the chances of this being about something else continued to grow in his eyes.

He could only _wonder_ what it was about though. Clearly, if the billionaire was going to such lengths to avoid the issue, it was something bad. But then, what could it be? Peter furrowed his brows as he fiddled with the loose strings inside his jacket pockets.

His mind drifted back to the conversation that had been brewing in class that day. The Sokovia Accords. The Falcon sighting. The rogue Avengers. Peter had grown tired of the incessant babbling of the people around him trying to figure out the mystery that _was_ that whole ordeal. Obviously, _something_ had made everyone go bat-shit crazy. Peter knew. He'd seen it first-hand. _Hell,_ he'd _felt_ it first-hand.

Captain America punched _hard._

The teen let out a small sigh as he continued to walk, his thoughts slowly beginning to bind together collectively. If these Accords, if these conversations were getting to _him,_ then he could only _imagine_ what it was like for Mr. Stark. After all, _Peter_ hadn't been close to the other Avengers. _Peter_ hadn't had them as teammates. _Peter_ wasn't the one who suffered from all of it.

The boy thought back to when Tony had returned from Siberia. Even after all this time, he still couldn't get the image of the man's shattered, heartbroken eyes out of his head. It was like they were burned in his mind. Carved like stone.

Peter filtered through the recent meetings he'd had with the billionaire over the last few weeks. They'd all been casual and calm. The man was constantly in a state of snark and wit, a comical retort or lazy joke on the tip of his tongue at all times as a smirk was constantly plastered onto his face.

Peter had enough experience to know a fake smile when he saw one, though.

But the teen also had enough experience to know when he was in over his head, and this was _definitely_ one of those times. I mean, it wasn't like he could actually _do_ anything to help the billionaire. He was just some stupid kid with messed up problems of his own! What could he possibly do to help someone when he couldn't even help himself?

Peter let out a small sigh as he began to approach the small janitorial closet located on the side of the back wall. The teen could only hope that other, more...qualified, more... _useful_ people could do something more, could do something to... _help._

 _Someone_ should get some, at least.

Peter let out a small puff as he reached the end of the hall - with no sign of Tony Stark. Lazily spinning around on his heel, the teen debated on whether or not he should go down to help Rhodey search the labs. After all, they were pretty big with plenty of nooks and crannies to hide. But then again...that would mean interacting with the colonel.

. . .

Hmm...maybe the cafeteria? _Yeah right. Like he'd ever step foot in there._

Before the teen could deliberate with himself any longer, the sound of a door opening to his left sounded right as a strong hand clamped down around his arm. Peter yelped in shock as he was dragged into the janitor's closet, the door closing behind him as it plummeted him into darkness...with a stranger.

The teen instantly lashed out with a gasp of shock, only for the hands to move to his wrists. "Whoa whoa! Ease up, Happy-Slapper!" A new, _recognizable_ voice scoffed. Peter had to take a second to blink away his shock, but it came through in his voice anyway.

_"M-Mr. STARK?!"_

He felt one of his wrists slip from calloused fingers as the lights suddenly burst on. Peter winced at the harsh change before blinking back up, taking in the sight before him. Tony was still holding on to one of his wrists while the other hand was just now leaving the newly flicked light switch. "Yeah, hi." The man said casually...you know...like he _wasn't_ standing in a small, cramped closet with a teenager surrounded by cleaning supplies, mops, and questionably-stained brooms.

"I...I-I don't..." Peter could barely even speak as he pressed a hand to his forehead. "What are you doing?!"

"Standing here. Talking to you."

"No, I-" The teen paused with an exasperated sigh. He missed Tony's amused chuckle at the fact that the teen's face almost looked identical to the looks Pepper and Rhodey got whenever his antics were at an all-time high. "I mean...w-what are you doing _here?_ Why are you in a closet?"

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders as he reached behind him and pulled out a half-eaten bag of chips from who-knows-where. _How often does he hide in here?!_

"One downfall to owning one of the most successful companies in the nation is that you have to deal with a _ton_ of bullshit asshats who feel obligated to tell you what to do and how to do it. Cue SI Board of Directors meeting." The man said, pointing a finger at nothing. "Yeah, well..I _pay_ people to do things I don't want to do and that person just so happens to be Pepper. But _of course_ , she insists I attend those meeting. Says something like 'it's _your_ company' and _'be responsible'_ or _'would you just listen and-'"_

"... _and_ what?"

"Hmm...? Oh I don't know. I wasn't listening."

Peter couldn't help the small amused scoff that fell from his lips as the man continued. "Anyway, I already have _plenty_ of meeting I have to attend every other _month_. I think she can handle these ones without me." He folded his arms over his chest. "Besides, I have better things to do with my time."

Peter furrowed a brow and cast a small, questioning glance around him. "You mean like hiding out in broom closets?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

"...yes."

The teen let out a breathy laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well...I mean, I _guess_ t-this counts as a way to address your problems." He muttered.

Tony nodded. "Yep. Just don't."

Peter watched as the man moved over towards the door, revealing that on the shelves behind him, there were a couple blankets and...and a _sleep mask_? _Seriously! How often did he do this?!_

The man casually cracked open the door slightly, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at something outside. "Welp, looks like Joe finished up downstairs earlier than usual." He muttered before closing the door once again.

"Who's Joe?"

"Our janitor." Tony replied as he pushed the bag of chips into Peter's unsuspecting arms, the teen floundering for a second before gaining a good grip. Lifting his head back up, he noticed Tony was now holding one of the brooms off to the side. Lifting it up into the air, he watched as the man easily pushed the end of the broom against the air vent cover above them.

It was obvious the vent had been moved and opened before because it slid off with little resistance. And all the while, Tony was _whistling. Whistling!_ Like this was an everyday occurrence!

Then again...that probably was the case. This _was_ Tony Stark after all.

"Uhh...do you do this...often?"

The man shrugged as he repositioned a small step stool with the toe of his shoe. "At least twice a month." He replied as he climbed onto the stool. "I've just never had an accomplice before." He casually swung himself up into the vent, Peter watching with wide, unbelieving eyes. It wasn't long before Tony's head popped back out, the man giving him a questioning look.

"Well? You coming or what, kid?

Peter could only gape up at the man with wide eyes, mouth parted slightly in shock at the sight unfolding before him. IN all honesty, this was _not_ what he'd been expecting to do today, especially not with how his day had started out. Tony noticed the teen's hesitance and rolled his eyes, lowering his hand towards the kid.

The teen stared at the outstretched limb for a moment before his eyes flashed with a new determination.

He could use a little distraction.

Without another word, he lifted his arm and grabbed Tony's hand.

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Labs L1-K9**

**3:34 p.m.**

" _Still_ nothing?" Pepper asked incredulously, glaring up at the ceiling as Rhodey's voice filtered through the Bluetooth earpiece. _"I'm telling you, Pep. The guy's not here!"_

The woman growled and began to rub the bridge of her nose. "Great, and now we can't find _Peter!"_

_"Knowing Tony, he probably kidnapped him."_

Pepper let out a long annoyed sigh. ". . . . I know."

 _"Look, maybe he circled back to the offices or something. Didn't we find him napping in a storage closet last time?_ "

"It's worth a shot. Send some of the boys to go and check the upper levels. Come and meet me back in the lobby and we can try and regroup. Maybe I can coax him out by leading a trail of coffee grounds on the floor to a cardboard box propped up with a stick..." Her voice faded away as the woman rounded a corner and disappeared.

Not even a few moments later, both Peter and Tony poked their heads out from around the corner wall they'd been hiding behind. The former had a look of unease plastered on his face will the latter looked like he was having a grand old time.

"Got to admit, the coffee plan doesn't sound half bad."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, I'm prepared to say it should be considered another great natural resource right alongside oil and coal." Tony scoffed as he straightened out the hem of his suit. Peter merely gave a small shake of his head as he glanced down at his shoes. "Good thing I don't have much homework today." He muttered more to himself than anyone else. Nevertheless, Tony still heard.

"Oh, right. School. That's like...a _thing_ you have to do."

"That's... _one_ way to put it." Peter answered slowly, giving a small snort at the billionaire's jab.

"How's that going anyways?" Tony asked absentmindedly as he checked around the corner for any signs of approaching guards or one furious redhead. So far, the coast was clear.

Peter gave a small shrug. ""It's...it's fine, I guess. It's..." He paused, trailing after Tony as the man began to walk through the empty labs, grateful that break would last for another couple minutes. "I don't know...it's kind of boring." The teen grumbled.

Tony hummed. "Yeah, I get that. You're, what, _fourteen?_ Too young to drive and yet probably smarter than most of your teachers?"

The boy's cheeks flushed at the compliment, hands wringing the edge of his jacket. The action made Tony wonder whether or not the boy was used to receiving such words of praise. He was willing to bet on the negative.

Peter shook the words off and continued on. "Well I mean, half the stuff they teach me is crap I already know, and the other half is stuff I'll literally _never_ have to use ever again." He ranted, Tony listening in with an amused smirk. "I mean, unless, you know, I go to a store and just _happen_ to buy 38 jars of peanut butter and want to figure out what the total ratio of peanut to butter is to the tenth degree." He muttered with a roll of his eyes before falling silent, coming to rub at the back of his neck. "Sorry...I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

Tony couldn't help the humored huff that fell from his lips. "You're good, kid." That was another thing he was beginning to pick up on whenever Peter was around. The teen could actually be pretty _cheeky_ when he wanted to be. Of course, it was usually immediately followed up by a few long-winded apologies, which Tony was quick to brush off. The billionaire was just happy the teen was finally beginning to relax around him. He smirked. "But I don't know, kid. Those seem like some pretty valuable life skills if you ask me."

Peter merely rolled his eyes once again as he continued to follow the billionaire down the halls with the occasional glance over his shoulder. Tony quirked a brow as he tried to recall something. "Aren't you a part of some club thing? Chess? Mathletes?"

"Oh, Decathlon." Peter corrected for him. "Yeah, yeah, I joined around a couple of months ago. I...it's cool. I like it. It's not that hard, plus the kids in there are pretty nice so..." He shrugged his shoulders. Tony paused as they reached the end of the hall, craning his neck to check the next, finding it empty as well. Despite his focuses mainly being concentrated on not getting caught, he was surprised to find that he was listening to everything the kid was saying. He barely even did that with _Pepper!_

Hmm. . . . probably didn't mean anything.

"You go to compete with that thing, right?" He asked, turning to glance back at the teen.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, we're pretty good actually." He paused for a moment. "Well...our team captain's pretty good. H-her name's...Michelle, but we just call her MJ."

Tony quirked a brow as he noticed Peter stutter for the first time in a _while_. He also picked up on the slight shift in his tone at the mention of the name and- _wait!_

. . . . _Michelle_ was a _girl_ name.

The billionaire blinked for another moment before a small devious smile fell onto his face.

_Oh...this is gonna be good._

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Cafeteria Staff Kitchen**

**4:14 p.m.**

"Are we even allowed in here?"

"Probably not, but I'm the boss so it's cool. PLus, you're with me so I'm sure you're fine, too."

"Oh...great…"

Peter ducked underneath the tray of carts that whizzed past him, the hustle and bustle of the active kitchen making him shift just a little closer to the billionaire at his side.

Tony was currently swiping a few apples from one of the back walls while simultaneously sparing a glance over by the counters. He watched with a smirk as Pepper and Rhodey walked past, disgruntled looks on their faces as they talked.

Moving back over towards Peter, the man shoved one of the apples into the teen's hands, Peter giving him a small "thank you" as they continued to duck and dodge between chefs and cooks, all of whom gave them annoyed looks.

"Anyway, what were we talking about before?" The man asked, glancing down towards the teen.

Peter furrowed his brow before opening his mouth, only for Tony to cut him off. "Ah, right. The suits. Anyway, I've been toggling with the idea of incorporating some nanotech into the new designs. You know, holding capacitors, conform factors, all that jazz."

Peter tilted his head up in thought. "Well, you wouldn't have to carry around a suitcase all the time to call your suit if you had that."

"Exactly!" Tony scoffed. "Anyway, nanotech's always a little finicky, so it's gonna take some time." He explained.

The teen nodded. "I'd figure as much." He noted, taking a bite of his apple as he continued. "The regime it deals with can't really be defined by either quantum chemistry or the classic laws of physics."

Tony huffed. "Yeah, I know. So it's kinda going to suck trying to configure the collective energies of the suit." He muttered, biting into his own apple before waving the fruit around gesturally. "The electronic states of the matter and the energy levels of all the electronic states are going to have to find some kind of harmony. But of course, the energies of the electronic states depond on-"

"On the 1/L2, the dimension of the system in that particular direction."

Tony spared the boy a small, surprised glance before letting out a small chuckle. "Forgot you're a mega-nerd."

Peter gave him a smile as the teen continued. "Well...the spacing between successive energy levels also varies as 1/L2. Hence the variation in the length scale of a system which will result in a significant change in the energies and the energy separations of the individual electronic states. It deals with particles ranging from 1-100 nanometers, which is about 10 to 1,000,000 atoms or molecules per particle.

Plus, you can't forget that as the size decreases, the energy bands will become substantially narrower than in bulk solid, leading to distortion of normal collective electron properties in the quantum confinement.

Then there's the semiconductors, the structure variations, the magnetic materials, the optical properties, reactivity, and even the heat changes to take into consideration so…"

The boy paused in his rambling when he noticed Tony was no longer walking right alongside him. Stopping, the teen turned back to notice the billionaire staring at him with an incredulous look on his face.

Peter blushed and glanced down towards the floor. "Umm...I've...I've read a few papers on this stuff. Nobody's really come close to actually running any successful trials on this stuff except for a scientist a while ago named Pym and I think there was something about some company up in California trying to replicate some of Pym's work and…" He trailed off awkwardly as he realized Tony was still staring at him.

"Uhh. . . sorry. I know it's weird knowing stuff like this." He murmured, fiddling with his hands nervously.

Tony blinked back into reality at that. Once again, the kid was surprising him with just how much he knew about science and technology and all the crap Tony was always busying himself with. The man let out a small scoff as he placed a hand on his hip. "Well then, I guess it's a good thing I found you." He smirked.

Peter glanced up at him.

"Us weirdos need to stick together." He patted the teen's shoulder before pausing. "Uh...no pun intended."

Peter stared at him for a moment before dropping his gaze once more, letting a smile fall onto his face. "Good, cause that was horrible."

"Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I _did_ intend it, then."

"It's still horrible."

"You wound me, Parker."

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - _Air Vents?_**

**4:38 p.m.**

"Alright, you know, I'm all for avoiding your problems, but isn't this just a _bit_ much, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked incredulously as he continued to crawl forward.

Tony merely gave a small wave of his hand. "Oh come on. Don't pretend like you're not having fun."

The teen rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, you were telling me about...something?" THe billionaire asked, glancing towards the kid. Luckily the vents in the building were wide enough to accommodate two people side by side. Almost as if it had been built for secret getaways.

Peter huffed. "Sorry, guess I lost track of what I was saying while I was climbing into an air duct for the second time today, something that's apparently a normal occurrence for you."

Tony snorted. "Alright, Sassy Sally. Why don't you go ahead and untangle your curls and drop the 'tude."

The teen blushed and lowered his gaze. "Heh...sorry."

Tony merely gave him a light shove. "I'm just joking kid. You really need to loosen up. Anyways, I asked about what you do when you're not Spider-ing around the city or basking in the light of my presence."

Peter chuckled at that as he continued to crawl across the cold metal surface. "Well, nothing near building suits and running a company and all the cool stuff like that." He murmured before giving a small shrug, or, as close to a shrug as you could get while crawling on your hands and knees. "I don't know. I mostly just tinker in my room with different scraps I find in the dump or I try to configure new ideas to try in my Chem class for stronger web fluid and-"

"Wait a minute...you mean to tell me you made your web fluid...in a high school Chemistry lab?" Tony asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Peter nodded. "Yep, anyway I sometimes also try and come up with some new designs for my web shooters themselves and-"

"Hold up! Are you actually saying you made webs that you rely on to hold your body weight as you swing twenty, thirty stories up in the air...in a room where people fail tests and play with crayons?"

"I. . play with-. . . . how do you think a classroom works?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. Don't you give your teacher an apple or something?"

"Maybe if it was an afterschool special and every group of friends had one ethnic kid in a wheelchair."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. What's up with that?"

Peter laughed and shook his head. "I don't know, but whoever came up with it must have had just as good of a grasp on school as you do."

The billionaire gave the teen a glare. "Alright, Mr. _I Stake My Life On The Dependability Of High-School Chemicals_ , new deal. Any and all web creation will be done here. You know, with _actual_ top-market materials." Tony said mockingly.

The teen gave a small pout before rolling his eyes and nodding his head.

"Good, now you were talking about how boring and meaningless your life is without me. I'd like to revisit that."

Peter smirked. "Well, I don't know about all of that, I mean, I've got plenty of books to keep me company." He continued when Tony gave him a questioning look. "I've got into the classics a little while back. You know, Stephen King, Charles Dickens, Anthony Burgess, stuff like that."

Tony let a small smirk fall onto his face. "Something tell me kids your age aren't swarming the public library, fighting over the last copy of Moby Dick."

Peter gave a small chuckle. "Not usually, no." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Most kids my age don't really care for it anymore, but...I like reading. It...it's like…" He fought to find the right phrasing. "It's like an escape, you know? Just...just something to...to take your mind off of. . . . things."

The billionaire watched as a look washed over Peter's face, one he couldn't quite read. But just as quickly as it had appeared, Peter was shaking his head, letting a small smile fall back onto his face. "Heh...m-my friend, Michelle's a big bookworm too so she let's me borrow most of her stuff. Course, I've read most of them already, so I just kind of cycle through them over and over again. She doesn't mind though."

Tony made sure to take in the small smile that passed over Peter's face at the mention of the girl's name, something the billionaire would be sure to use against him later. "How come you don't just go and get some new books yourself?"

Peter shrugged. "The antiquities bookstore's kind of far from my house and I don't usually have much time to venture over there. The librarian's also a _lot_ scarier than people think. Plus I…" A new blush fell onto his face. "I don't really have any money."

Tony regarded the teen for a second longer before Peter continued. "Umm...do you...read a lot?" He asked, the billionaire quick to notice how uncomfortable the kid now seemed.

Quickly realizing such a topic was one the teen probably didn't wish to discuss, the man decided to play along. "Ehh...not as much as I used to. I'm pretty busy nowadays. After all, how could I possibly let reading get in the way of this?" He asked, gesturing around him at the metal walls surrounding them.

Peter scoffed lightly. "It's...hard to argue with that. Nothing better than crawling through dangerous air ventilation systems."

Tony threw him a light glare. "Oh, don't be a baby. These vents are perfectly saf-"

**"AHH!"**

Tony's eyes widened as Peter suddenly disappeared from beside him, a newly formed hole now situated in the metal from where the paneling had dropped away. The man simply blinked in shock for a moment before lightly clearing his throat and calling sweetly, "You okay down there, kid?"

. . .

. . .

". . . . . can I please just get you coffee and stale donuts like a normal intern?"

"Yeah. . . that's not really my thing, kid. Now get back up here before we're compromised."

". . . . . . . _sure."_

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Outdoor Rec Area**

**5:16 p.m.**

"Can we _please_ GOD _just drop this?!_

"What? What's so wrong with asking about your little friends?"

Peter gave the man a small glare as his nose scrunched, quickly resenting the fact that the look on Tony's face said that it only made him look more adorable.

 _Curse_ his baby-face.

Letting out a quick sigh, Peter hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms around his knees, which were drawn close to his chest. "Look, it's not that big a deal. Like I said before, she's just one of my friends. Well...more like one of the only two people I actually _like_ talking to."

"Ouch."

"At school!" Peter quickly added, flashing the man a nervous grin. Tony, in response, gave the teen a scoff. "Good save." He muttered with a smirk, only to curse under his breath as he and Peter quickly ducked back down from their positions on the ground. The faint sound of the security guard's walkie-talkie echoed above them as the man walked past the snow-covered bush they were currently hiding behind.

After a moment, the fading crunch of snow underneath boots told the two that the guard had walked off once again. Peter let out a small sigh and shook the few flakes of snow from his hair. "I'd just like to say once again that this seems just a _little_ excessive, Mr. Stark." He murmured, glancing back over towards the billionaire.

"Trust me, kid," He started, brushing the snowflakes from his arms. "You don't know pain until you've had to sit through one of those meetings. They literally make you want to bludgeon yourself to death with a spoon."

"That...that kind of seems like an over-exaggeration."

"Oh, it's an _understatement."_

Peter couldn't help the amused huff that fell from his lips as Tony helped him to his feet. The pair was currently making their way through the building's outdoor space, which was mainly just a large plot of land that stretched along the back entrance of the building. The large garden consisted of bare trees and snow-covered plants and bushes. Now that March was dwindling and April was quickly approaching, the snow was beginning to give way for their green counterparts.

Peter let a small smile fall onto his face as he slowly began to move through the bushes and plants, simply breathing in the calming sight as he walked.

Tony watched the kid move off and took a breath as he ran a hand through his hair, casting his eyes towards the sky. The sun shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the snow in a blanket of shining light that stung the eyes while also casting it's bright glow on the tall skyscrapers in the distance.

The billionaire stared out at the sight for a moment, smirk falling from his face as his breath swirled in front of his face like a wisp of magic. Tony let out a small sigh as he lowered his gaze and slowly took a seat on one of the many benches scattered around the garden.

His mind replayed over the words he's spoken just a second ago before a humorless chuckle fell from his lips. He only _wished_ this was all to avoid some meeting. In all honesty, Tony couldn't have cared less about the meeting. Sure, he'd dodged a couple here and there - much to the displeasure of Pepper and Rhodey - but he usually would have relented at this point.

Of course, that would have been _if_ this was all for some meeting. But it wasn't.

It was about what came _after_ the meeting.

The man rested his elbow on a knee as he placed his forehead in his hand. Two nights ago, Rhodes had discovered Tony elbow-deep in _bottles_ upon _bottles_ of alcohol and scotch, relentlessly drowning his depressions. The billionaire hadn't thought anything of it. His nightly escapades had become a common occurrence after...well...after shit went down.

He just hadn't expected anyone to find out about it.

Of course, the man had been too wasted to absorb any lecture or scolding Rhodey could have given him at the time. Instead, the colonel had simply dragged the near-unconscious man to bed, determined to discuss what had happened once he was sober.

Thankfully, Pepper had been away on business for the past few days, so that had bought the billionaire a little time, but of course, now that she was back, both her and Rhodey planned on talking to him about what had happened.

After the meeting.

Well, Tony couldn't have that.

Talking about it meant dealing with it. Dealing with it meant remembering. And remembering was _not_ something he wanted to do. That was why he'd been drinking in the _first goddamn place! To **forget!**_ Why couldn't they just **_fucking_** understand that?!

But he knew. Something in the back of his mind told him he knew exactly why they didn't. It was because he never talked to them about it. So how could they possibly understand? _He_ barely understood.

Tony ran a hand down his tired face. He couldn't talk about it. He just couldn't. Cause if he started, he'd never be able to stop. He'd unleash everything he'd been holding back since the Accords had first been brought up. And that was _not_ something he could do.

He couldn't talk about it . . . . because that meant _feeling_ it. And that would kill him.

The man lifted his gaze just enough to make out Peter a few paces away, a gentle smile adorning the teen's face as he watched a blue jay perch on one of the nearby branches. Tony stared for a moment longer before letting out a small huff of amusement, dropping his head back down once again. Any other time, Tony would have already succumbed to Pepper's wishes to attend the meeting. He'd just have to dodge and deflect as best he could against the combined forces of Pepper and Rhodey afterwards. He _did_ have a lot of practice with it after all.

But, as he'd roamed the tower with the teen, he'd come to notice something.

Peter hadn't stuttered a single time throughout their little escapades. The kid was relaxed. He'd brainstormed with the billionaire freely and happily. He'd rambled on about the dorky things he and his friends would do with little worry. He'd even cracked a few small jokes here and there that had Tony letting out little chuckles. He'd acted like...well...like a _teenager_. It had taken Tony a little while to finally figure it out, but now the man finally understood the reason behind the teen's strange shift in behavior.

He was distracted.

Tony didn't know whether the realization made him relieved or depressed. It was probably a mix of both.

He was relieved at the fact that he was finally beginning to understand how to loosen the kid up. By taking his focus away from his problems and instead letting him draw his attention on things that actually seemed to interest him, the billionaire believed he could finally starting to crack that tough outer shell Peter had created for himself.

Then again, the fact that the kid had to be distracted at _all_ made Tony feel like he'd aged another ten years.

Before he could dwell on the issue any longer, he heard Peter call out to him, the teen walking closer. He noticed a look of slight concern marring the boy's face. _Great, the last thing I need is for this kid to start worrying about me. The whole point is to get him to **stop** worrying, Stark._

Quickly plastering a smirk onto his face, Tony was quick to return a snarky greeting. Peter took a seat next to him as he continued to stare out at the sight before him. "You really should come out here more often, Mr. Stark. You know...when we're _not_ being hunted like dogs by your own employees."

Tony gave a chuckle as he folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah..." He murmured, taking in the sight of the emerging frost-covered flower buds on the numerous plants and bushes around them. "I guess I should."

. . .

. . .

"Do you think she's pretty?"

Peter tilted his head and quirked a brow. ""Hmm? Who?"

"This Michelle girl. Is she pretty?"

"GOD! Mr. Stark!"

"What?" Tony laughed, shoulders shaking merrily as he watched Peter's face turn beet red. "I'm just asking an innocent question. Am I not allowed to be interested in your friends?"

"W-well...I...n-no I g-guess but..." Peter literally felt himself tripping over the words as he fumbled with his hands. "Well, then it shouldn't be any problem." Tony continued, teasing smirk playing on his lips. "I mean, you practically told me your friend Ned's whole life story."

"Well that's...d-different. Ned's... _Ned."_

 _"_ So then what's Michelle?" He leaned closer. "A pretty girl?"

"I _beg_ of you to stop. You need a kidney? I'll _give_ you a kidney. I got one to spare. We'll trade. Kidney for silence. You want the kidney? _Take the kidney._ "

Tony laughed. "Calm down, would you? No, I don't want... _why_ a kidney?"

Peter shrugged. "I have two."

"Mm-hmm...well all you have to do is answer my question and you can keep your kidney." Tony responded, folding his arms over his chest once again. Peter threw the man a pleading look, but once he found the man wasn't going to relent, the teen turned back to the ground, fists clenched around the edge of the bench as his face burned.

"S-s-she...she's...s-she's n...n-not...she's not _not_ p-pretty..."

Tony regarded the teen in silence for a moment before turning forward once more. "Mm-hmm..."

Peter whipped around. "What? What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, a new defensive tone edging around his words. It only made Tony chuckle harder. "No, nothing. Nothing at all." He quipped before rising back up to his feet, straightening out his suit as he did so. "Come on, we should keep moving. We _are_ on the run after all." He said before walking off, leaving Peter still sitting with a shell-shocked, embarrassed look on his face.

Tony didn't have to turn back around. He knew Peter would follow.

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Upper Level Roof**

**5:34 p.m.**

Both Tony and Peter practically leapt through the open doorway before slamming the heavy door shut behind them. Peter could feel his heavy pants turn into laughs as he doubled over, placing his hands on his knees as he struggled to take in a breath.

"You good, kid? You're not gonna keel over on me are ya'?" Tony called, panting beside the teen as he rested his back against the metal door of the roof stairwell. Peter threw up a shaky thumbs up before dropping his hand once more.

After taking another second to catch their breath, Peter lifted his head and finally took in where they actually were. "Whoa..." He breathed out as his eyes widened, his legs taking him towards the railing lining the edge of the roof.

Tony grinned beside him. "Yeah...it's a bit better than the view from _your_ balcony."

A sea of buildings lay scattered before him, each glowing brightly like a billion fireflies lighting the skyscrapers and spires that surrounded them, each dwarfed by the height of the tower they currently stood on. Golden lights shone back at them, twinkling like the stars Peter had never seen, these being the closest he'd ever gotten to them. Rivers of speeding red lights swam through the roads, twisting and curving through the city like a living, breathing entity, reaching out to infinity, where they touched the darkening horizon. The sky was a pale blue, edging towards white. Near the horizon, the colors melted into a warm orange, like spilled paint dripping across the edge of the sky. The soft colors reflected back up into the sky via the distant waters of the Hudson River, acting as a mirror to the softly fading colors.

Peter couldn't help the small huff of disbelief as he stared out at the skyline, hands clutching the railing tightly in awe. "Not bad, huh?" He didn't even notice Tony come to stand next to him. He didn't look at the billionaire as he gave a small nod.

Tony gave a nod of his own as he rested his elbows on the railing and stared out at the scene as well, the pair falling into a lull of silence. It wasn't forced. It wasn't awkward. It was just...silence.

Peter finally pulled his gaze away from the sight, turning back towards Tony, only to pause as he took in the man before him. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, one hand tilted up to support his cheek as he stared out at the skyline. Now that he was really looking at him, Peter could see just how tired the man looked; bags hung under his eyes and his face seemed heavy.

He looked kind of...miserable.

The teen turned away, lowering his gaze towards the floor. He hadn't noticed the man looking so run-down throughout the day. Of course, it was obvious he was pretty good at hiding things so Peter doubted anyone could have been able to tell.

 _Did...did I do this?_ Peter asked himself, the thought making his stomach clench. Mr. Stark _had_ been spending the entire day with him. Peter knew more than anyone that _that_ could exhaust _anyone_. But...as his mind replayed the events of the past few hours, he couldn't pick up on any signs of distress or reluctance coming from the man. So...maybe it was something else.

Peter furrowed his brow. He knew the man had a meeting today. Hell, that's what they'd spent the entire time _avoiding._ But if Peter was being honest, he was pretty sure that wasn't the whole reason for their little escapades. There had to have been something else the billionaire was avoiding. Something else that was bothering him.

The teen knew it could have been a multitude of things. After all, people like Tony Stark never run short on things to worry about. But as he thought through the possibilities, his mind continued to drift back to school, to the conversation they'd held today. The same one they'd been having for nearly a month now.

 _Captain America. The Avengers. The Accords._ Something clicked in the back of Peter's mind as he stole another glance towards the billionaire. _God, you idiot. Of course, it's the Avengers. What else could it be?_

Obviously this whole mess with the Avengers and the government was taking a toll on the man. Heck, he had to hear about it at school almost everyday and it annoyed _him._ And he wasn't even a part of this! Tony Stark was right in the middle of it. Worse, it involved people Peter assumed he'd thought of as friends. Maybe even family.

Peter thought back to nearly a month ago, when he'd first seen Mr. Stark after Siberia. After his fight with Captain America. He remembered the bruises on his face. The look in his eyes. He could still remember it vividly.

The teen thought of Ned and MJ. Never in a million years would the boy _ever_ think they could be capable of hurting him. They were his friends. He loved them.

He wondered if Mr. Stark had thought the same think of Steve Rogers.

"What happened with Captain America?"

The words were out of his mouth before his brain could even register them...let alone _stop_ them.

Tony was obviously startled by them, whipping around to face the teen. "What?" He asked, his voice eerily calm, his face unreadable.

Once his brain decided to stop malfunctioning, Peter's eyes widened as he took in the gravity of what he'd just asked. "Oh, god. I - _shit_ \- I...I-I I'm s-so...so sorry, Mr. S-Stark. I...that's a r-really p-p-personal question a-and...and I-I...I don't know w-what I was think- I just..." He raised his shaking hands out before him. "y-you don't h...h-have to answer t-that...I mean...i-I'm w-way out of...out of l-line and I-"

"Would you cool your jets, kid?" Tony snapped, his tone much harsher than he'd intended, revealed in the way Peter flinched back and wrapped his shaking arms around himself. Tony opened his mouth to continue, only to force his jaw shut to allow himself a calming breath. He could honestly say the question had definitely caught him off guard, but the last thing he wanted was to destroy all of the progress he'd made with the teen today.

The billionaire continued to stare at the teen, whose eyes were still locked on the ground. After a moment, he turned away and ran a hand down his face, letting out a deep sigh as his hand moved to rub the back of his neck. _I don't want to do this._ He knew that. He knew he didn't. And he didn't have to. That was the kicker. He didn't have to. This wasn't Pepper or Rhodey. This wasn't Bruce or some trained psychiatrist. This was a fourteen-year-old kid he'd met only around a month ago.

This was a kid he'd somehow decided to make his problem. This was a kid with more issues than Tony knew how to handle. This was a kid that Tony knew would bring a _multitude_ of said problems his way. Problems he didn't need. Problems he didn't want. Problems he didn't have to burden himself with. Problems...he really couldn't handle right now. Not when he had so many of his own.

That in itself was another reason not to tell the teen. Just because _he_ was burdened with the problems of others as well as his own didn't mean the boy had to as well. Peter didn't need _his_ problems. He had his own to handle. He didn't need to know the things Tony did. Not to mention the fact that Tony didn't even _want_ to discuss the things he knew.

And yet...

The billionaire cast the kid a small glance. It was safe to say that Peter had been _much_ different today than any of the others. Tony knew that was partially his doing. He'd allowed himself to become a distraction for the teen. Something to help him forget. And yet, while he knew that was a major factor in the boy's shift in demeanor, Tony knew there was something else there. Something else had made Peter act so much more open with him.

The teen had been trying.

Tony could see it now. In the small jokes the teen had made. The slight cheekiness he'd express whenever Tony gave him a little sass. The trying smiles and desperate chuckles.

Peter had been _trying_ to make himself comfortable. He'd been trying to get himself to open up just a little more. He'd been trying to allow Tony _in_...just a little bit. And while the billionaire could tell they were _far_ from any real progress on that front, he knew it was a start.

Tony let out another tired sigh as he dropped his hand back down to his side, turning back towards the teen, who still refused to meet his gaze. He couldn't just let this day go to waste. Not with the progress they'd made. Not when Peter had been trying so hard to make said progress.

Tony felt a new realization bloom in the back of his mind. If he was ever going to get Peter to trust him, he had to show the kid that trust first. It was a two-way street after all.

The billionaire licked his lips in deliberation, hesitating for a moment longer before a new determination set in his eyes.

If he wanted Peter to let him in, he'd have to let the kid in _first._

Peter flinched back violently as Tony rested a hand on his shoulder, the movement making the billionaire rear back slightly. As he met Peter's fearful gaze, the teen's face went red and his eyes lowered, Tony taking it as his sign of submission as he placed his hand on the teen's arm once more, Peter resisting the urge to shrug it off again.

"You know...I never really _did_ explain it to you when I recruited you, did I?" He asked, making sure to keep his voice low and steady.

Peter hesitantly met his gaze before shaking his head.

"Yeah...then I guess an explanation is long overdue anyways." He murmured. Peter shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor once again. "You...you don't have to do this, M-Mr. Stark." He whispered out meekly.

Tony took in the teen's words in a moment of hesitation. _You really don't_.

. . .

. . .

_Yes...yes I do._

"Yeah, I do."

Peter watched as Tony turned back to stare out at the skyline, his arms resting on the railing once again. Peter mimicked the action after a moment.

"Well...I'm assuming you've heard of the Accords."

The teen nodded his head. "Yeah, we talk about them in class a lot."

"Then you know what they were about."

He nodded once again. "They said the Avengers would be placed under the supervision of the UN to safeguard the wants and needs of the public while also maintaining peace and assuring safety through more control."

Tony gave a nod of his own. "Yeah, well...apparently not all of us... _agreed_ on those terms." He muttered out before reminding himself to stay calm. "Only half of us ended up signing. Cap and a few of the others refused." He explained, choosing his words carefully as he debated just how much he wanted to share with the kid.

Peter listened on in silence, wide eyes staring straight into the man.

"Anyway, three days later, there was that bombing at the UN meeting."

"In Vienna?"

"Mm-hmm." Tony nodded. "Police identified the bomber as The Winter Soldier." He watched Peter give an afirmative nod. No doubt the teen had seen it on the news. Everyone had seen it.

"Yeah...I kind of kicked him off a balcony..."

Oh right. The teen had fought him too.. . . . Tony didn't really know how he felt about that.

"Well, it certainly didn't help that the Winter Soldier, or James Barnes happened to be Cap's best friend during the war."

Peter furrowed his brow. "Yeah...I remember reading about him. He was an assassin for...H-Hydra?" He stuttered, trying to recall the name.

Tony gave another nod. "Anyway, after that little skirmish in Leipzig, I went after Cap and Barnes. After all, it was either me, or a government kill squad." He muttered. "And..." He paused debating on how much he wished to truly reveal. "Some...some pretty bad shit went down." He sighed, turning to gaze back at Peter.

The teen's gaze was currently locked on the floor, his face hard in thought, lips parted slightly. "So...they...they just... _left_ you there? They just _bailed_ on you?" He asked incredulously. "I...I don't understand. How...why...w-why the hell would they do that?" He asked, Tony noticing a hint of anger edging the teen's words. "I...you were just trying to help them."

Okay... _that_ left a bad taste in Tony's mouth.

"No, I-" Tony paused. Just _what_ was he planning on saying. _Nope. It was on me kid. I lost my temper and threw the first punch. My bad! Don't blame this on Cap. He's totally innocent here!_

He eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. "It's...complicated."

That wasn't good enough for Peter. "Wha...what's complicated about it? You were trying to do the right thing and he repayed you by..by trying to kill you? He's not the victim here! You a-"

"Peter!" Tony shouted, fists clenching at his sides. The teen instantly flinched at the hard tone. "It's not...it's not like that." He whispered, voice unsteady.

Scratch what he'd said before. _All_ of this left a bad taste in his mouth. How could it not when he was basically creating an anti-Cap minion right here and now.

After all, it was hard to ignore the fact that when he'd recruited Peter, he'd conveniently left out Cap's side of the argument, instead deciding to explain how he'd simply broken the law. Tony honestly couldn't say what side Peter would have been on had he heard both sides of the story. He really didn't _want_ to think about that.

He glanced over at Peter, the teen turning to look at him as well. Just by looking in his eyes alone, Tony could see the raw purity in the kid's gaze. The praise he felt for Tony. The admiration. It was obvious Peter didn't assume Tony had done any wrong. So far, all he knew was that Captain America had gone crazy. To Peter, Steve was the bad guy.

Maybe that's what Tony wanted...

He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice to speak to someone who didn't at _all_ hold him accountable for the mess that was the Accords and the Rogue Avengers. And he knew that if he just continued on with that story, continued to tell Peter the barest of details, that Cap had simply gone crazy, that that admiration, that praise, that look - absent of all hate and judgement - would remain.

But for how long? How long until Peter heard the truth, heard both sides of the story? He'd inevitably realize that Tony had been lying to him. And it wouldn't just be the look that disappeared, it would be Peter himself. The kid would never trust him then.

Tony scrunched his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a deep, regretful sigh.

No...he had to tell him the truth.

He'd have to let Peter decide for himself whether he deserved that look of admiration.

"It's not like that...because I'm the one that threw the first punch."

Peter reared back in shock, brows furrowing as his lips parted. "What?" He whispered in disbelief.

Tony rubbed the side of his face. "Barnes, he...he did some bad stuff, kid. I mean...I mean some really bad stuff. And I was...I was angry. I knew he'd been used. I knew he'd been brainwashed. I knew he didn't have full control of his actions. But...i was just..." He paused. "I was just _so angry_." He realized.

"So...I threw the first punch. And we fought. It...it was bad, kid." He sighed, resting back on the railing once again as he lowered his gaze. "After...after the fight, neither one of us looked good. We were both pretty fucked up. Anyway, Cap left. He and the others...they're gone." He explained, resisting the urge to steal a glance towards Peter.

He just wanted to remember that look of praise in his eyes for as long as possible before he had to accept the new one that had to have replaced it by now.

"I...this entire mess...in a sense, we all had a hand in it. None of us were innocent. We were all responsible. So...so don't go writing Cap off as the bad guy, kid. Cause..." He sighed.

"Cause I'm just as bad as he is. Maybe worse"

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

"No."

Tony blinked in shock at the simple word, turning to look at Peter, only to rear back in surprise. The teen's fists were clenched tightly by his sides, eyes narrowed into thin slits as he glared back at Tony. He'd never seen the kid look so mad before.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but that's _bullshit!"_

...or _sound_ so mad before.

Peter let out a small breathy laugh, one Tony knew held no joy. "You want to stand there and tell me that you're just as bad as Captain America. NO! That you're _worse_ than him? I mean, a-are you _fucking_ serious?!" He growled out, teeth grinding.

"Yeah, I read about the Accords. Even I can tell they aren't perfect. But that doesn't mean you abandon them, doesn't mean you choose your fists instead of words. Not when that means the Avengers are disbanded. No. You work through it. You compromise. That's how this world works! We're not in 1945 anymore! The world isn't black and white. It's not America: good, Nazis: bad!" He scoffed, hands flailing wildly as he spoke. "This world, _today_ the only way to get anywhere is through compromise! That's the only way things will ever get done!"

Tony stood in shell-shocked silence as Peter continued, the teen running a hand through his hair. "And...and I know you made a mistake, Mr. Stark. But if we're being honest, _everyone_ did. Everyone has something to feel guilty about. The only difference is that you're standing right here. Right _fucking_ here! You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction _you_ caused!" He snarled, his words filled with venom.

"You actually stayed to make things work. Meanwhile, Captain America fled at the first sign of trouble. _You_ stayed to _fix_ your mistake. He didn't. He left! He left _you!_ He left you alone to die back there!" The teen was practically screaming now.

"I mean...I...I thought you guys were friends. Family! How could..." He trailed off for a moment. "How...how could he just leave? You...you don't do that to your friends, your...your family." His fists shook. "No. No, Mr. Stark! Don't you try and convince me that you're somehow worse than Steve Rogers, alright? Because at the end of the day, he's the one who abandoned you...abandoned all of us, and _you_ ' _re_ the one who stayed! You're the one who's fixing all of their messes! You're the one who's actually _**trying!"**_

Tony stared at the teen with wide eyes, his mouth slightly ajar as he struggled to form words. Meanwhile, as Peter fought to gain control over his breathing once again, the anger began to slowly seep from his bones.

Very quickly being replaced with disbelief.

He blinked in shock as he raised a shaky hand to his mouth, the other clutching his stomach tightly. "I...I-I...oh, god. I'm I-i'm so...s-so sorry Mr. Stark. I...I don't...I don't k-know what c-came...came over me." He panicked, waving his hand wildly in front of him. "I-I I totally o-overstepped m...my bounds and...a-and I-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." Tony breathed, finally able to speak once again. "Take a breath, kid." He murmured quietly, watching as Peter rubbed at his collarbone, cheeks red as he took in a shaky breath. Tony stared at the teen for a moment longer, taking in the shocking sight before him as for a minute, the two simply just stared at each other, neither sure of what to say.

Finally, Peter broke the silence as he grimaced slightly. "You're...not mad?" He whispered meekly.

Tony couldn't help the scoff that fell from his lips at that. Figures the teen would be worried about him being mad after he literally just defended him to the heavens and beyond. "If anything, I'm more surprised." He muttered before letting a small smirk fall onto his face. "I didn't even know you knew how to curse."

Peter blinked up at the man or a moment before letting out a small laugh. "Yeah well...that just makes it all the more effective."

Tony hummed his amusement as he placed an arm around the teen, a small spark of joy twinging in his chest when he felt the kid quickly relax after tensing. The two turned back to the railing, the sky now a deep shade of lavender as the sun lowered towards the horizon.

"You are one strange kid, you know that?"

Peter gave a small smile. "Yeah, well...I guess that's a good thing." He shrugged. "If I was normal, I wouldn't be here with you." Tony glanced down at him as he continued. "So you know...silver linings."

The billionaire stared down at him for a quizzical second before letting out a light chuckle. "Yeah. . . . silver linings."

The pair continued to stare out at the skyline for a while, time passing without them even realizing it, which is what made Rhodey tackling Tony to the ground all the more shocking.

Peter yelped in surprise as he watched the colonel basically wrestle the billionaire to the ground, Pepper pushing her way through the heavy roof door at the same time. "Geez, I didn't think you were actually serious." Peter heard her mutter as she stared at the two men.

Meanwhile, Tony looked to be having a grand old time as he stared up at the fuming lieutenant. "Hey, Rhodey. What's up, man?" He greeted casually, a mischevious glint in his eyes. "You seem a little tense.

"Oh shut up, you son of a bitch." Rhodes practically snarled, though even Peter could tell Tony wasn't phased at _all_ by the harshness of the man's words. "Do you know how long we've been looking for you?" He asked. Tony smirked at him. "Probably the same amount of time I've been hiding from you." He quiped. "Ah, correction: _we"_

Both Pepper and Rhodey turned to glance at Peter, who gave a small, nervous wave. The colonel rolled his eyes. "Did you really have to go and corrupt the kid?" He muttered.

Tony shrugged as Rhodes hauled him to his feet. "It's in the job description."

"He's an intern."

"It's in the... _intern_ description?"

Peter chuckled in the corner.

Pepper stalked over to him, meeting his nonchalant gaze with a look that Peter assumed held the fires of _Hell_. "You and I are going to be having a _very, very_ long conversation after this meeting." She whispered out. Tony rolled his eyes. "Great. Can't wait." He muttered as Rhodes began to practically drag him to the door. "You know these board directors have been waiting for you _all_ day? If you thought they were grumpy before, just wait until you see them now." The man snapped.

Pepper shook her head as she watched the two men disappear through the door before turning back towards Peter, who shrugged his shoulders. The woman rolled her eyes and extended a hand towards the teen. Peter only hesitated for a moment before accepting it. "You don't mind waiting for a little while, do you Peter? Something tells me your _boss_ is going to be pretty busy for the next few hours." She all but growled.

Peter gave an amused nod. "Y-yeah...I'll be fine. Although, I'm assuming I can't say the same for Mr. Stark."

"You assume correctly."

* * *

**Wednesday - March 23, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Waiting Lounge**

**6:25 p.m.**

Peter let out a small sigh as he closed the book, finishing it for the third time in that month alone. Flipping it back to the front, the teen glanced down at the cover _East of Eden_ by Jon Steinbeck. He could honestly say it was becoming one of his favorites. He'd have to ask Michelle if she had any more of his works.

The teen glanced up, scanning the lounge for a moment. He hadn't heard hide nor hair from Pepper, Rhodey _or_ Tony, though he assumed the latter had been dragged to the pits of _Hell,_ never to be seen again.

Letting out another sigh, flapping his lips in the process, the teen turned back to the book and flipped to page one _._ _Might as well start over. Again._

Before he could even get halfway through the first chapter, though, he heard the door to the room swing open. Before he could even look up, he was being hauled to his feet. A startled yelp fell from his lips as he regained just enough sense to grab his backpack before he found himself being dragged down the hall, close to the point of practically being carried.

He whipped his head up, though he pretty much already knew who it was. " _Mr. Stark?"_ He called incredulously. "What...what are you doing?!"

"I'm kidnapping you."

"Wh-"

Before he could even form a coherent thought, he heard loud shouts coming from farthr down the hallway. Craning his neck to glance past the billionaire's shoulders, he could just make out Pepper and Rhodey standing in shock from down the hall. And they sounded _pissed._

"Am I your leverage?"

"Yep!"

Peter sighed. "Did you skip your meeting?"

Tony snorted. "No, I went."

"Oh."

"I skipped our post-meeting scolding."

"Oh."

The next few minutes consisted of Peter being dragged into the elevator, with Tony ordering FRIDAY to ban its access to Pepper or Rhodey until they were safely out of the building. Peter didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

Quickly finging himself in a parking garage, he continued to get dragged around until Tony was plopping him down in the passenger seat of a car that Peter was willing to bet cost more than his entire school, people included.

"Umm...am I allowed to know where we're going?" Peter asked cautiously, glancing at Tony as the man sped out of the garage. The man threw him a knowing smirk. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I was afraid you'd say that."

All in all, the drive didn't take longer than maybe ten minutes. Though, with the speed Tony was driving at, Peter was sure they could have gotten _anywhere_ in ten minutes, regardless of distance. Throughout the drive, Tony mostly complained about his meeting, Peter choosing to remain silent, save for the occasional laugh. He was content with just listening.

The car came to a screeching halt which sent Peter jolting forward, his face slamming painfully into the dashboard. The teen covered his face with his hands as he groaned in pain. Tony hissed besides him. "Yeah...in hindsight, I probably should have reminded you to put your seat belt on...hmm...am I a responsible mentor yet?"

Peter gave a shaky thumbs up.

"Cool."

After taking a minute to make sure nothing in his _frikkin_ face was broken, Peter lifted his head to find Tony already out of the car, standing next to his door. The teen gave him a small quizzical look before stepping out of the car as well, lifting his head to see where they were.

The expensive car was parked in the curb right outside a large, antique building, one Peter regocnized instantly. "I...w-what are we doing here?" He asked, turning back towards Tony. The man gave a small shrug. "You said you needed some new books, right?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"Well here you go. Problem solved." the man claimed nonchalantly, folding his arms over his chest. The billionaire fully expected the teen to go rushing towards the store, his excitement bubbling through his body. However, Tony could honestly say he was surprised when Peter made no such move, instead choosing to fiddle with his hands as he lowered his gaze.

"Y-you don't...you don't h-have to do this, Mr. Stark." He murmured quietly.

Tony blinked down at the teen before letting a small grimace fall onto his face as he realized how this must have looked to the kid. More likely than not, Peter probably saw this as a form of charity, an act of pity. The man bit the inside of his cheek in thought before letting another smirk fall onto his face.

"I also didn't have to play hooky all day with my intern, but...I don't know...I guess today's the day for trying new, slightly crazy, things." He quipped, placing an arm around Peter's shoulders. "Besides, I guess I _could_ use a few more books in my own collection." He murmured with a wink to Peter. "Can't hang out in the air vents _all_ day after all. Plus, now you have a bodyguard to protect you from the _menace_ that is the sweet, old librarian who- _holy shit..._ is she... is she _glaring_ at us already? We aren't even _inside_ yet!"

Peter let out a knowing chuckle as he continued to debate whether or not to take the man up on his offer, the teen's face revealing his lingering hesitations. "So...got anything you recommend?" The billionaire asked. That seemed to be enough to dissolve any remaining doubts in the boy as a large grin split his face.

Quickly motioning for the man to follow, the teen practically fumbled up the steps, jumbled ramblings falling out of his mouth at how much the man was going to love the books inside.

As Tony felt himself getting dragged into the store, albeit with the beady eyes of the demon-lady behind the counter trailing them, he couldn't help the strange feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around his chest, something that had been present ever since Peter's little outburst on the roof. _Maybe you're taking this too far..._ He wondered to himself. _Maybe...maybe this is a bit too much..._

It wasn't that much of a stretch. After all, Peter's little rant had only reinforced the fact that Tony had a whole mess of problems he still had to deal with. Now pile on the problems _Peter_ was bringing to the table, and they were looking at a full-blown disaster. And yet, as the billionaire watched Peter become engrossed in his surroundings, a huge dorky grin splitting his face, Tony found himself doing something he hadn't been able to do since Siberia.

He relaxed.

He didn't think about Ross. He didn't think about the continuous cycle of new and revised Accords he continuously had to go over. He didn't think about Cap, the Avengers, the betrayal.

No, right now...all he cared about was finding a good book to read, with some input from the bubbling teen bouncing at his side.


	8. Incubus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open effortlessly. Tony lifted his head and instantly deflated at the sight.
> 
> As usual, the penthouse was in pristine condition. Furniture spotless. Kitchen appliances shining. However, there was just one problem. One problem that had him avoiding the penthouse as much as possible.
> 
> It was much too quiet.

_Peter's eyes snapped open as the sound of a loud boom pierced his ears. The child sat up in his bed and rubbed at his eyes, a small yawn bubbling past his lips. Taking a second to adjust himself, the four-year-old grasped for the teddy-bear lying next to him as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of his room._

_Thankfully, his star-shaped nightlight was still glowing brightly in the corner, illuminating the room just enough for him to make out the corners of the walls and the outlines of his furniture._

_Before the child could begin to wonder what it was that had awoken him, he heard another boom sound from outside._

_The child whipped his head towards the window and noticed that it was pouring down rain, the thick black drops clinging to his window, staining the glass a cold, inky color. He whimpered and clutched his bear tighter as another BOOM sounded. However, that one sounded...funny. It wasn't as thunderous as the other ones. It sounded_ sharper _. More like a_ BANG.

_Before the toddler could listen for the sound again, his door swung open. The sudden action made the child jump in shock before he realized it was just his mommy. However, any sense of ease that had begun to form was quickly extinguished when he saw the look on his mommy's face._

_She looked scared._

_"M'my?" Peter mumbled sleepily._

_Mary rushed over to him and ran a hand through his hair, plastering a small, quivering smile onto her face. Peter noticed that it was bruised and bloodied. Had Mommy fallen down? He did that sometimes. Did she need him to kiss the boo-boos?_

_Before he could ask her, she was lifting him out of his bed and carrying him towards the door. Another BOOM rolled from the clouds outside._

_"Where we goin', Mommy?" The child asked, a new sense of excitement filling him, driving out whatever sleepiness that had lingered. His Mommy never let him stay up so late. Were they gonna do something fun?_

_"We're gonna go on a little trip, sweetie." Mary said, her voice breaking slightly. Peter could feel her shivering as she held him close. Was she cold? The child looked around and noticed that his Daddy wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was coming with them, right? Peter liked it when they all went on trips together. Mommy and Daddy didn't fight._

_He loved it when they didn't fight._

_"Is Daddy coming?" He asked with a smile as they made it down to the first floor._

_Mary gave the boy a frantic look before shaking her head, plastering on another smile. "No, baby. Daddy's busy right now." At the boy's upset face, she continued. "But we might meet him later, alright?"_

_Another weird-sounding BOOM rang out around the house. Only this time, Mary ducked down to the floor, clutching Peter to her chest as tightly as she could, acting almost as a shield to the boy. Peter squirmed in her grasp. She was hugging him too tightly._

_Before he could voice his irritation, however, Mary was back on her feet, nearly sprinting towards the front door. However, Peter felt his mother give a sharp gasp as she stopped suddenly. Peter lifted his head and noticed she was staring at something. Craning his neck to follow her gaze, Peter noticed a dark figure standing by the front door, the shadows of the darkened house hiding their face. The child also noticed the shadowed stranger had something in his hand. Something shiny. Something he was now pointing straight at them._

_Just as suddenly as they'd stopped, Mary was sprinting again, Peter bouncing in her grasp as she ran. "Mommy! I don't like this game!" Peter wailed as more and more weird BOOMS rang out around the house. It was too loud. He didn't like it. It was loud, and his Mommy was scared._

_Now_ he _was scared, too._

 _Before he could say anything else, he felt his Mommy slow down. Mary let out harsh, heavy pants as she stopped by the hallway closet. Wrenching open the door, she all but practically_ threw _the four-year-old inside before closing the door behind them, Peter letting a pained whine sound in his throat._

_Mary was by his side in an instant, gently shushing him as she carded a hand through his curls. "Shh, shh, shh, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." She whispered, a new, calmer smile adorning her lips. Peter slowly quieted down, small tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. "Now listen to me, Peter. We're going to play a new game, alright. It's like Hide and Seek. You're going to hide in this closet and not make a single sound, okay. You're going to be really quiet. You think you can do that for Mommy?"_

_The child let a grin fall onto his face as he nodded his head in excitement._

_Mary let out a small laugh as she grasped the boy's small hands, pressing them against her lips as tears streamed down her face. Now Peter was confused again. "Why are you sad, Mommy?"_

_Mary simply continued to smile. "I'm not sad, sweetie. I...I'm happy. I'm happy that you're safe." She breathed before wrapping her arms around the child, bringing him into a tight hug as more silent tears streamed down her face. She buried her head into his curls, placing a kiss against the boy's forehead. "Peter, listen to me." She said softly, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "I need you to remember something. No matter what happens, no matter what anybody says, I need you to know that I love you with all my heart, baby."_

_Tears dripped down onto Peter's cheeks, the child staring up at the crying woman with wide, confused eyes._

_"I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that." She whispered before raising a shaky hand. Peter looked down and noticed that his mother's pinkie finger was extended towards him. "Promise me, Peter. Promise me you'll always remember that."  
_

_The toddler stared at the shaking hand before lifting his own, smiling brightly as he intertwined his finger with his mothers. "I will, Mommy." He beamed. "You're acting silly." He giggled as he wiped the moisture off his cheeks. "Can we play this game again in the morning?" He asked with wide eyes._

_Mary let a fresh wave of tears spill out over her cheeks, but her smile never wavered as she combed a hand through the child's hair. "Of course, sweetie. W-whatever you want." She murmured, shutting her eyes tightly as she let out a shaky breath. Slowly, the woman rose up to her feet as she grasped at the coats hanging above Peter's head. Quickly repositioning them so that they concealed the child from view, the woman turned towards the door._

_Peter could see his Mommy's chest shaking as she breathed. Mary looked back at him one last time and gave a shaky smile before quickly opening the door, stepping out before closing it once again, leaving the child by himself in the darkness._

_Peter was instantly greeted with the sound of those weird BOOMS once again, only this time, they were painfully loud. The child raised his hands and cupped them over his ears as he tried to block out the harsh noises. Eventually, the child couldn't differentiate between the loud thunderous BOOMS from the raging storm outside and the sharp BANGS coming from right outside the door._

_Peter didn't know when, but at some point he'd started to cry. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy to come back. He wanted her to be happy, smiling as she held him, telling him everything would be okay as she rocked him back and forth._

_BOOMMM!_

_He wanted to see his Daddy happy, too. Daddy had been sad for a while. Sad and grumpy. Mommy said Daddy was just a little tired and sometimes it made him sick. But he never heard Daddy sneeze like he did when he was sick. Maybe grown-ups got a different kind of sick. He'd have to ask his Mommy when she came back._

_BANG! BANG!_

_More tears began to stream down his face as he openly cried, soft whimpers falling from his face as the loud noises shot through the air, piercing through his skull painfully. He hated storms. They were always too loud. But this one was worse. This was louder than any of the others._

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_He scooted back as far as he could, his back hitting the wall as he sobbed, his cries getting louder and louder as he began to call for his Mommy to come back. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy. Where was his Mommy?!_

**_CRRAAACCCKKKKK!_ **

_Peter nearly leapt off of the floor at the horrendously loud clap of thunder that had rolled through the air, shaking the entire house. He sat in silence for a moment, blinking in the darkness as he waited for more BANGS to ring out._

_He waited a minute._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Two..._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Three..._

_. . ._

_None came._

_All he could hear was the sound of rain hitting the roof of their building, the soft hiss of water running along the walls. The child bit his lip as he wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of what to do. He wanted to go and see his Mommy, but she'd told him to wait here. He didn't want to make Mommy angry._

_However, after another five minutes had passed of no movement whatsoever, Peter slowly rose up to his feet. He didn't care about winning the game anymore. He just wanted to see his Mommy._

_Quietly, Peter stepped over the different shoes that lined the floor of the closet as he made his way over to the door. Stretching his little arm up, the toddler wrapped tiny fingers around the handle of the door and grunted with effort as he pushed it open._

_"Mommy?" He called, having expected to see the woman standing right outside the door, waiting for him. When he saw no such thing, the child hugged himself tightly and began to slowly move down the hallway. Thunder could still be heard rolling outside, each crack making Peter wince and walk faster as he searched for the woman._

_As the child trudged down the hall, his eyes began to adjust once more to the lack of lighting in the house. He was able to make out the disarray around him. hallway tables were overturned. Picture frames lay cracked and shattered on the floor, and streaks of color were smeared over the walls. Peter blinked at the harsh red coloring of the markings, a new sense of worry bubbling in his stomach. Someone drew on the walls? Weren't they going to get in trouble for that? He would if he ever did. He hoped his Mommy didn't think he did this._

_"Mommy?!" He called again, now even more agitated and nervous than before. He could feel new frustrated tears welling up in his eyes as he quickly began to pick up the pace with each passing second, so much so that he was nearly running when he finally made it to the living room._

_He froze in his tracks when he caught sight of the room._

_The table was broken and lay in pieces on the floor. The TV screen was cracked, a harsh bright glow flickering on and off as the machine fought to stay alive, illuminating the room in a startlingly bright light while simultaneously casting darkened shadows around the room._ _The walls were cracked and darkened, different holes littering the surface on each wall around the room. Even the carpet was now messy and stained, puddles of dark red splattered across it._

_Of course, the biggest puddle was in the center, stemming from the limp body now laying on the floor._

_BOOM!_

_Peter stared wide-eyed at the scene, unsure of what do to. Hesitantly, the child began to make his way towards the center of the room, his legs seeming to move as if independent from his body._

_He could feel his chest slowly heaving as he tried to suck in a breath, tiny fingers curling into the hem of his pajamas. Small, bare feet inched closer, stopping when his toes sunk into the wet carpet._

_BOOM! CRACK!_

_Slowly, the child looked down at the sight by his feet. The figure lay unmoving as the flickering TV cast periodic bright flashes of light onto the still form. Limbs were sprawled out randomly as if they'd simply collapsed to the floor suddenly. And in the center of their chest, there were three small dark holes, each bubbling with the same dark liquid that was staining the carpet._

_Peter stared at the figure for a moment longer before he finally found his voice again._

_"M...Mommy?"_

_Before he could even take another step, a soft creak met his ears. Whipping his head back up, Peter felt a gasp fall from his lips as his eyes fell on the same shadowed figure from before. The child felt himself stumble backward, his frantic gaze meeting that of the stranger._

_He felt himself freeze as two glowing eyes pierced right through him._

_**CRRAAACCCKKKK!** _

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**05:54 a.m.**

Peter jolted awake, his body jerking as a strangled gasp fell from his lips. He tried to lift his arms but found that he was tied down to the bed. Instantly feeling a spike of fear shoot through his heart, the teen let out a grunt as he yanked at his limbs. A startled yelp bubbled past his mouth as he felt himself tumble to the floor, the bed sheets still wrapped tightly around his body.

The teen couldn't suppress a sigh as he let his eyes shut once more, lying face-down in the carpet of his bedroom. After a moment, the boy slowly began to untangle himself from the sheets until he was able to sit upright.

He groaned softly as he pressed the palm of his hand to his temple, willing the throbbing headache away as he ran a hand down his face, only to pull away as he felt something wet touch his fingertips. He blinked in shock at the moisture before touching his cheeks once more. _Great..._ He muttered to himself as he roughly wiped the tears away before he rose up to his feet.

Peter hissed in pain as he jostled his chest. Tentatively lifting up his shirt, the teen ran shaky fingers gingerly along his ribs. Even without looking in a mirror, the teen knew his torso had to be littered with dark black and purple bruises if the pain in his ribs was any indication. But he wasn't coughing up blood so...

It couldn't be too bad.

Breathing out through his nose, the teen ran a hand through his hair and glanced over at the clock, the lights blinking back at him: _05:55 a.m._

 _Hmm...they didn't wake me up._ He murmured to himself before biting the inside of his cheek. _They must be out again._

It wasn't much of a surprise. His father and the Cons were always busy doing... _something._ Often, Peter would find they'd leave for hours upon hours, not getting back until the late hours of the night, sometimes not even until the next morning. There were even times when they'd be gone for days at a time. Of course, his father usually gave him a little heads up whenever that was the case. Seeing as how he'd received no such warning, Peter doubted they'd be gone for longer than a day.

 _Whatever...a few hours away from them is enough._ The teen muttered to himself as he walked into the bathroom. Moving over towards the bathtub, the teen grasped the nozzle and twisted it, a harsh spray of water splashing down. Undressing as quickly as his injuries would allow, the teen stepped into the scalding spray and allowed the near-boiling water to wash away any remaining remnants from his dream.

 _I have to stop doing this._ Peter thought to himself as he ran a hand through his soaked hair. He found he'd been thinking of _her_ more and more often. It was starting to become a problem. Now they were starting to show through on him _physically_ It was fine when it was solely confined to his thoughts, but if his father had caught him...seen the tears.

God, he wouldn't be standing.

He turned to face the hot spray of water, allowing the scalding drops to wash against his face.

He noticed it again. In his dream. When he had looked at his mother's face...the details were becoming fuzzier. It was harder to tell whether her eyes were green or blue, whether her hair reached her shoulders or stretched to her back. He knew what it meant.

He was forgetting her.

. . .

_Good..._

_I'm finally doing something right for once_. He thought to himself, remembering the words his father had spat to him once when he was eight-years-old and had asked - _for the last time-_ about his mother.

He knew in his head that it was the right thing, that he should be happy for finally doing something correctly in his father's eyes. And yet. . . he couldn't help the sick feeling that churned in his stomach at the thought of forgetting his mother's face. OF forgetting the soft tones of her voice. The strawberry-scent of her hair.

He reached out and twisted the shower knob once again, ceasing the spray of water. Silently, the teen grasped the towel hanging off to the side and stepped out. Taking a second to dry himself and put on his clothes for the day, the teen turned towards the mirror.

Lifting a hand, the teen smeared his palm against the fogged glass, clearing a small, watery patch so that he could look at his face. He was getting used to the familiar look of dark bags underneath his eyes as well as the common bruise littering his forehead or his cheek. Thankfully, the ones from last night were already beginning to fade. Another upside to his healing factor, he supposed.

Hanging his damp towel up on the hanger, he reminded himself to do the laundry when he got home before exiting the humid room. A cloud of stream floated into his room as he opened up the bathroom door, moving over towards his desk as he collected up the papers and scattered folders from the homework he'd hastily done the night before.

A slight grimace played on his face as he noticed the _hefty_ number of problems he had failed to complete. Clicking his tongue, he elected to do them in the hallway before class started once he got to school. Ned would probably just try to convince him to copy off his own problems, but Peter already knew he'd decline. Ned already did enough for him. He could handle a few stupid math problems.

Neatly filing the papers into his folder, the teen stuffed it into his backpack before zipping it closed, hoisting it up over his shoulder as he opened his bedroom door. The sound of comforting silence met his ears, a small sigh of relief bubbling past his lips.

Making his way down to the second floor, Peter moved over towards the pantry. As usual, there was barely anything inside save for a few boxes of uncooked spaghetti, a couple cans of soup, tomato sauce and corn and some half-eaten bread.

Reaching in, the teen took hold of the bread and tore himself off a piece, careful to make it small enough so that the others wouldn't notice. They didn't like it when he ate without their permission. Said something about throwing off their tests...or something or other. He didn't really listen at this point. Besides, he was willing to bet they just did it to make him suffer.

He knew how much they just _loved_ that.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, the teen popped a small piece of the bread into his mouth. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to stave off his hunger until lunch.

He knew it wasn't true, far from it if he were being completely honest. However, with experience, Peter had come to realize that he was nothing if not a little optimistic. After all, it was basically all he had.

Grabbing his keys out of the bowl by the counter, Peter walked down the final flight of stairs down to the first floor. Letting out a small sigh, the teen hoisted his bag up higher before opening the front door, sucking in a deep breath as he ran another hand through his hair, which was already beginning to fluff up to its usual poof.

 _Well...I have no_ new _bruises this morning, my bones are all properly aligned, and the house is empty so I can invite Ned over tonight. This morning's_ already _better than usual._ He thought to himself with a small smile. _Maybe, if I'm lucky, today won't be as bad as I thought._ He murmured to himself as he took a step forward...only for his foot to slip out from underneath him. A yelp fell from his lips as he slid down the remaining steps, slamming down painfully into the pavement below him.

He rested his head back against the bottom step as he let out a groan.

_But when are you ever lucky, Parker?_

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**11:42 a.m.**

_"Everyone has_ something _to feel guilty about."_

Tony sighed and placed his elbow up on the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes tightly. No matter how much he tried to fight it, ignore it, Peter's words continued to ring around in his ears, distracting him from doing basically _any_ work at all, judging from the massive pile of paperwork still sitting in front of him.

Lazily twisting the pen in his hand from one finger to the other, Tony stared down at the file in front of him. But, even though his eyes scanned the lines of words, his mind did very little in actually taking them in. Though of course, that could have just been the lack of sleep. Safe to say, the teen's words had left him with just a little more insomnia than usual, and that was saying something.

Tony had tried to busy himself down in the labs, tinkering with suits, messing with circuitry, _HELL_ , he'd even stooped to doing actual _paperwork, s_ omething that was quite a rarity for him nowadays. Yet, here he was! Granted, he wasn't doing a very good job of it, but still.

However, none of it was enough to drag his mind away from that rooftop, away from that _strange_ fourteen-year-old.

 _"The only difference is that you're standing right here. Right_ fucking _here!"_

Safe to say, Tony had been absolutely shocked at the raw emotion hiding behind Peter's outburst a few nights ago. Up until that point, the man had assumed that the teen hid any and all states of agitation and fire behind his Spider-Man mask. But there, on that rooftop, he saw something he was willing to bet Peter rarely ever showed.

He saw a glimpse of the _real_ Peter Parker.

He wasn't shy and timid. He wasn't nervous and agitated, glancing over his shoulder at every noise, every whisper. He wasn't apologizing every two seconds for things that were completely out of his control, trivial things that barely even mattered.

No, the kid he saw on that rooftop was strong. He was brave, he wasn't afraid to speak out and stand up for what was right. And the thing that shocked Tony the most was that he wasn't even defending _himself_. No! He was defending _him!_ Tony Stark! A man he'd known for only around a month! And yet, his words, the ferocity behind them, the raw anger and hurt concealed beneath them almost made Tony believe that it had been _Peter_ in Siberia and not him.

 _Siberia...Cap..._ God, just the thought of it made Tony's grip on the pen in his hand tighten painfully.

" _You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction_ you _caused!"_

The teen's words rang like bells in his mind, making his anger spike as he let them crawl through his brain like spiders infesting a nest. He'd be lying if he said the kid didn't have a point. It hadn't taken long for not just Steve, but for all of the other Avengers to break away from everything and crawl underground like cockroaches hiding from sunlight.

Tony's fingers traced the edges of the pen, the smooth surface gliding across the calloused skin. Here he was! Busting his ass off, trying to get the Accords under control. He'd known from the get-go that those documents weren't perfect. Things rarely were in the beginning. He'd known they would have to be amended, revised. However, Cap and his band of idiots hadn't really given them much time to actually make any headway with them before blowing everything to shit!

Now Ross was pushing every button to try and convince more and more officials that the Accords needed to be stricter, more controlling. Well, that was the _last_ fucking thing they needed! So here he was now, left to pick up the damn pieces while the others gallivanted off elsewhere, hiding from the mess _they_ had created, not even bothering to lend a hand of aid.

 _Well,_ you're _not likely to get shot the second someone sees your face_. He thought to himself. Instantly, he felt a bout of rage flare up inside of him as he slammed his fist down on the desk. "Well, they _fucking_ deserve it!" He snarled to himself at that thought of sympathy. It's not like they needed any more of that. The media already gave them _plenty!_

And yet, even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the bitter taste they left, despite his best efforts to ignore it. Even as his mind tried to stay focused, tried to convince him that he was merely frustrated at the devastation and work the other Avengers had inconvenienced him with, he knew, deep down, that that wasn't even _close_ to the true reason he felt so much hate.

No...the real reason was much simpler...but that much more devastating.

 _"He left. He left_ you! _He left you alone to die back there!"_

Tony sighed and rested his head in his hands, quickly feeling the full force of his exhaustion like a truck barreling through him. Despite what he constantly tried to convince himself, he knew that Steve leaving had hurt him much more than he liked to let on.

" _I mean...I...I thought you guys were friends. Family! How could...how could he just leave? You...you don't do that to your friends, your...your family._

Tony would be the first to admit that when they'd first met, he and Steve had basically hated their guts. It was obvious to pretty much anyone who'd even glanced at the two. Though, it was to be expected. Stark was a playboy and a con man. He let his ego drive his action most of the time and was willing to get on anybody's nerves just for the heck of it.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was America's Golden Boy. He was sweet and charming in a whole other sense of the word. He was willing to lay his life down on the line and seemed to embody the true spirits of loyalty and honesty, with the stubbornness to boot.

The pair was basically two sides of a spinning coin. Neither knew who would eventually come out on top, and who would be flattened by the other.

And yet...as time had gone on, both Steve and Tony had begun to settle down. Sure, it was obvious they got on each other's nerves more than the others did, but it was _also_ obvious that they seemed to do it with a new sense of humor and light-heartedness behind it. If anything, it resembled the way brothers constantly teased and picked on each other, but at the end of the day, both knew they could trust the other with their life.

And Tony had. He'd trusted Steve with his life. He'd come to value the man not just as a friend, but as family. And they were. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, they truly were _family._

_. . ._

Well...they _had_ been.

" _Don't you try and convince me that you're somehow worse than Steve Rogers, alright? Because at the end of the day, he's the one who abandoned you..."_

Tony dropped the pen down onto the papers before him, letting out a frustrated groan as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. "This is ridiculous!" He groaned to himself. Realizing he most likely wouldn't make any more progress on the papers in front of him, the man began to file them back into place, making a mental note to go back through them later.

Leaning back in his chair, Tony lazily spun around until he was facing the large window that made up the back wall of his office. It was still mid-morning, so the traffic down below wasn't as backed up as it would be around lunchtime. The sun shone brightly above, the buildings around him casting harsh flares of bright light as the rays reflected off of windows and metal frames.

As he stared out at the city, Tony drifted back to the teen who had spoken the words he'd been hooked on ever since they'd been uttered. The entire ordeal up on the rooftop left a strange feeling in the billionaire's gut, though, the same could be said for all of his encounters with Peter.

The teen was definitely unlike anyone he'd ever met before. Tony wondered whether that was a good thing or not. He rubbed his fingers against his forehead as he placed his elbow up on the armrest of the chair.

 _You really couldn't have picked a worse time to pull something like this, Tony._ He thought to himself. Peter Parker's case was a sensitive one, that much was given. After all, Tony had never had to pick and choose his words as carefully as he did with the teen. One wrong phrase, one ill-timed quip could send the teen spiraling into a panic.

Of course, with Tony on the verge of a panic himself at most hours of the day, it didn't exactly alleviate any stress. If anything, it added about ten times as much. _Geez, if only this could have happened two months ago..._ He thought to himself.

And it was true. Despite the hate he felt for himself at thinking it, Tony knew that handling Peter, handling his delicate situation would have been a lot easier with the other Avengers backing him up...with _Steve's_ help.

But here he was. Stuck with a teenager with problems that Tony had _no idea_ on how to even tackle, let alone _solve_. Not to mention the fact that the billionaire made friends with nearly every _bottle_ in the frikkin Tower on most nights. Safe to say, none of those traits really portrayed the role of strong, competent mentor that he was sure Peter needed right now.

 _You're only gonna make this worse..._ The words were in his mind before he could stop them. Tony narrowed his eyes and let out a frustrated scoff as he glared down at the floor. He was being ridiculous! Peter had made it _very_ clear the previous night just _what_ he truly thought of Tony Stark. It was obvious the kid basically idolized him, though he was much more discrete about it than other fans of his.

 _And as long as you're not slapping him across the face whenever he looks at you, I'd say you're already above -average compared to some other people in his life._ He thought bitterly to himself.

Instantly, all the anger in him was extinguished like a bucket of ice water being poured on a candle. The man shut his eyes and let out a small breath as the words rang around in his head, the true extent of the situation slamming into him like a shield stabbing through his chest.

Peter was in trouble. That much was obvious. No matter how much the teen tried to downplay it, Tony could tell he was in pain. It was the kind of pain no amount of money could fix. It was the kind of pain that couldn't be taken away with tinkering and jokes. It was the kind of pain that Tony had far too much experience with.

It was the kind of pain that tore you to pieces.

 _You honestly think you're qualified for this?_ He asked himself. No. No, he wasn't. He wasn't even the most qualified person when it came to kids in general, let alone ones with serious mental scars and trust issues.

" _You're the one who's fixing all of their messes! You're the one who's actually **trying!"**_

Tony bit the inside of his cheek as Peter's words replayed over and over in the back of his mind. He couldn't stop seeing the pained look in the teen's eyes. The desperation for Tony to listen to him. The anger he felt for the other Avengers.

The worry shining in his unshed tears.

It was only going to get worse from here. Tony would have to be blind to not see that Peter had genuinely been worried about him up on that roof. The teen was actually... _concerning_ himself with Tony's problems, even though he had a _mountain_ of his own to deal with!

 _You honestly think that's what he needs right now? More problems to concern himself with?_ Tony knew it was a valid argument. With all the shit Peter no doubt dealt with on a daily basis, the last thing he needed was to be around Tony, someone who was probably only a few weeks away from a _legit_ mental breakdown.

No, if anything, Tony knew that it would probably be smarter to keep Peter _away_ from all of this. God knew _he_ wanted to get away from it. The last thing Peter needed was to be involved in all the shit with Cap, Ross, the Accords...

Tony winced as the documents came back to his mind. He knew Ross was suspicious of the newcomer that Tony had brought to Berlin, to Leipzig. He also knew that the Secretary of State was very adamant in getting Tony to reveal the identity of said newcomer.

Unfortunately, the billionaire just _couldn't_ have that.

He knew that by involving Peter in the Accords, he would also be involving him in a shitload of crap he didn't need on his plate. Not to mention the fact that he would most likely never get the chance to be a normal teenager anymore...well, as normal as one could be when they could do their homework on the ceiling. But it wasn't just that. It also brought up another issue that made Tony all the more nervous.

What would happen if Peter's family learned of his identity?

He knew that if he ever exposed his identity to Ross that Richard would no doubt also be made aware. Tony could still remember the day he'd first recruited Peter. He remembered the small, little threat he'd given to the boy. The same little threat that made Tony hate himself even more than he already did.

But he could remember the look of sheer, unadulterated _fear_ that shone through in Peter's eyes when he threatened to tell his father even more.

While he'd only expected the teen to protest slightly at the blackmail, the billionaire had never expected for the teen to practically _beg_ him not to expose who he was. That alone had Tony worried about what would happen _should_ Richard ever find out.

Tony knew that if Peter was _that_ afraid by just the sheer _idea_ of having his identity exposed, then it had to be _bad._ Like... _really bad._

No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to the kid.

SO if that meant adding one more lie to the pile of shit he usually fed Ross, then so be it. Besides, it wasn't like Spider-Man was often dealing in international affairs so he knew the Secretary didn't really have any real cause to be worried.

But it was just another reminder that keeping Peter close, keeping him involved would only end badly for the teen.

Still...every time Tony thought of dropping the internship, of letting the teen go and ceasing their meeting, it made the pit in his stomach open up so wide he feared he would fall in.

He knew the act could benefit Peter...but he also knew it could just as easily hurt him.

_"Because at the end of the day, he's the one who abandoned you, abandoned all of us..."_

. . .

Tony sighed for what felt like the twelfth time in the past half hour.

No. He couldn't do it. He tried to convince himself that he was only doing it to prevent that feeling of abandonment from infecting Peter as well, but he also knew that somewhere...in the back of his mind...he couldn't let go of Peter either.

And that feeling of selfishness made him itch for that bottle of scotch he'd left in the fridge last night.

"So, are you planning on doing any of that paperwork or should I expect a new pile of papers on my desk later today?"

Tony visibly jumped as he twisted the chair around, watching as both Pepper and Rhodey walked into the large office. Quickly replacing his shocked face with his usual, trademark smirk, the man shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I know how much you love doing this crap so I might just be kind enough to let you take care of it." He quipped. Pepper merely rolled her eyes as they walked into the room.

The billionaire propped his elbows up on the desk. "So, to what do I owe this wonderful visit?" He asked, batting his eyes sarcastically.

He quickly picked up on the shift in demeanor between his two friends as they exchanged small looks. Finally, Rhodes turned back to him, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the doorframe. "We're just coming up to check on you." He murmured.

Tony scoffed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Both Pepper and Rhodes opened their mouths, only for Tony to quickly lift up a finger. "Don't answer that. That was a rhetorical question." He muttered with a roll of his eyes.

Rhodes let out a sigh. "Look, Tony. I don't know whether or not we made this clear to you Wednesday night, but we're worried about you, man." He said with a hard look on his face as he recalled the previous night. After Tony had returned from his little escapades with their newest intern, he'd been - forcefully - dragged into his office by Pepper and Rhodey where they threatened him with duct-taping him to the chair unless he sat and listened to them. From there, they went on to explain to him their fears and worries about him and his little...late night coping mechanisms. Of course, being Tony, the man had been quick to deflect and reassure them that everything was fine and that he would be alright.

Of course, they didn't buy that crap for a second.

"I know how you are with this kind of shit. You pretend that you're fine and instead of turning to your friends, who could, you know, actually _help_ you with this, you just busy yourself with getting antiquated with the liquor cabinet." Rhodey muttered angrily. Pepper placed a calming hand on the colonel's shoulder before turning towards Tony. "Listen, Tony. I know...well...I _don't_ know what you're going through right now, but-"

"Ah! Let me stop you right there." Tony said as he lifted his hand. "Is there going to be a point to this or are we just warming up the oven for your pity cake. Cause I got to say, I really don't have the stomach for one of those right now." He said with a smirk. "Just started a new diet, thanks."

Rhodey let out an aggravated sigh as his friend, once again, deflected with jokes and sarcastic comments. "Listen, Tony, I know this shit is rough but-"

"It's not much different from all the other crap I've had to live with." The billionaire growled darkly before turning his gaze away. "I dealt with those just fine. I'll deal with this too." He muttered as he rose up from his chair, fully intending to walk past the two at his door, only for Pepper to grab his shoulder. "But it's not _just_ _you_ you're dealing with now, Tony." She reminded him with concerning eyes.

"If you're talking about Peter-"

"You mean your _accomplice_?" Rhodes muttered.

Tony flashed him a smile, to which the colonel simply scowled. "I have everything under control." He reassured them.

Pepper placed her hands on her hips. "Really? Cause it sure didn't look like you did when you were having a chugging contest with yourself a couple nights ago." She muttered. Tony's face became unreadable for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders, an unperturbed face concealing his features. "It's not like he was around."

Both Pepper and Rhodey let out exasperated sighs at his comment, the noise making Tony clench his fists silently. Unnoticeably.

"You can't do this again, Tony. Not now. You can't go playing the irresponsible act. Not with Peter being such a huge factor here." Rhodes explained. Tony glared back at him. "You think I don't know that? You honestly think I haven't been _thinking_ about him this entire time, worrying about how in the _hell_ I'm going to do this?!" He snarled, narrowing his eyes at the two in front of him, who both looked slightly shocked at his sudden shift.

However, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Tony was right back to being as snarky and calm as before. "Look, the kid's going to be fine. _I'm_ going to be fine. You're both worrying over nothing." He reassured them with another smile. One they both could tell was fake. However, they chose wisely not to comment on it. He began forward once more, brushing past the two as he walked out into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" He heard Pepper call.

He motioned with his head towards the ceiling. "I'm heading upstairs for a little while. You convinced me, Pep. So I'll kindly allow you to finish up that paperwork for me. You're welcome." He smirked.

"Isn't the kid coming by today?" Rhodey called as he watched Tony walk towards the elevator. "Not till later!" the billionaire called over his shoulder. As he entered the elevator, the man turned back towards Rhodes. "You should talk to him, Rhodey. Get him to stop being so intimidated by you. That way I won't have to become like a barricade between you and him every time he sees you." He muttered, remembering how nervous the teen was around the colonel.

"And how do you suppose I do that?" Rhodey muttered, folding his arms over his chest once again.

Tony thought about it for a minute. "You still have that bunny suit I got you for Easter last year?

He could still hear the colonel's indignant shouts of anger as the elevator doors closed. Tony's amused scoff fell away as the elevator began to ascend up the Tower. He let out a tired sigh and propped his back up against the cool walls of the elevator, lifting his hand to rub at his eyes.

In the back of his mind, he knew Pepper and Rhodey were doing what they always did. They were simply trying to help him. He knew they were concerned, and if he were being honest, they had good reason to be. But...he just couldn't get past it. He couldn't get past those looks. It was those looks on their faces that made him deny their help every single goddamn time. It was those looks that made him refuse any and all offers of help.

Those damn looks of pity.

He hated how they walked around him like he was surrounded by eggshells. He hated how they spoke to him as if he were a fragile piece of cracked glass, ready to shatter at any second. He _despised_ those pitying looks, like he was a broken, sad, pathetic waste.

He _hated_ it.

Maybe that was why he had had such little problem in speaking to Peter about it. When he looked at the teen, Peter gave him no signs of pity, no signs of sadness. No, Tony saw something else when Peter looked at him. It wasn't just awe. It wasn't just wonder.

It was understanding.

The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open effortlessly. Tony lifted his head and instantly deflated at the sight. As usual, the penthouse was in pristine condition. Furniture spotless. Kitchen appliances shining. However, there was just one problem. One problem that had him avoiding the penthouse as much as possible.

It was much too quiet.

There was no sound of the TV blaring obnoxiously. No whine of the blender whirring. No annoyed tones of bickering. Nothing but silence as Tony walked out onto the main floor. The man stole a single glance around the - _empty_ \- floor as he let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. Two years ago, he would have _killed_ for a little bit of quiet in the tower, but this...

He'd never wanted this.

As he walked further into the large room, his eyes swept over the kitchen to the side, mainly towards the bar set up against the back wall. He stopped as his gaze locked onto the many bottles lined up against the bar, fingers twitching slightly as he debated whether or not to give in to his temptations.

Finally, after realizing that Peter would be coming later that day, the man huffed and moved over towards the couch, not having the energy to make it all the way to his room. With a tired sigh filtering through his lips, the man roughly collapsed onto the soft furniture, his head bouncing back against the lip of the couch.

Quickly feeling the effects of his lack of sleep slamming into him like a train, the man shut his eyes, telling himself he'd only take a short break. Twenty minutes tops.

He was out like a light before he could think better of it.

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**En Route to Stark Tower**

**02:56 p.m.**

Happy glanced up towards the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the teen currently staring out the window, cheek resting on his propped-up fist. The man furrowed his brow before turning back towards the road. "You good, kid?" He called, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward.

Nevertheless, he caught a glimpse of Peter lifting his head. "Umm...yeah. Y-yeah...I'm fine." He murmured softly before turning back towards the window.

Happy stole one last glance towards the teen before giving a small shake of his head, turning back towards the road.

He should have been grateful. He should have been relieved. He should have been, well... _happy._ After all, the man was sure that had it been any other teenager, they would have been yapping his ear off or rambling on about some inane new topic on their phone, and _god_ knows the ill-tempered man didn't need any of that crap.

But, there was just something... _off_ about the way Peter acted.

Maybe it was the hunched shoulders. Maybe it was the way he never seemed all that comfortable around him. Or maybe it was the fact that Tony had finally filled him in on what the billionaire _assumed_ to be happening in the Parker Residence behind closed doors.

He was willing to bet on the latter.

Happy couldn't say he was a very... _loving_ person. Oh, sure, he had many friends. He even considered people like Tony, Pepper and Rhodey to be somewhat like family to him. But he could honestly say he wasn't what one would call... _nurturing_.

However, he just couldn't shake that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Peter flinched every time the driver spoke. He couldn't help but squeeze the steering wheel just a little tighter every time Peter apologized for something he didn't need to apologize _for._ He couldn't help the way his brow furrowed every time the teen huddled in on himself.

No, he wasn't a _loving_ man, but he wasn't heartless either.

"Are you _sure_ you're alright, Peter?" He called once again, peeling his eyes away from the road to stare at the kid from the mirror.

Peter lifted his head to look up at the man, surprised he'd actually used his full name. He'd only ever heard the man call him _"kid"_. As he stared at the man, he noticed the shift in his eyes. They weren't as cold and uncaring as usual. In fact, Peter almost thought he was a small hint of _concern_ in them. He shook it off, surmising it as a mere trick of the light. Nevertheless, it made him smile just a little bit as he gave another nod of his head.

"I'm sure. T-thanks...Happy." He said softly, giving the man a small, reassuring smile.

Happy continued to stare at the teen for a moment longer before giving a satisfactory nod of his head, turning back towards the road. _Got to say, Tony. You sure know how to pick 'em._ He muttered to himself, though he couldn't really tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

As his mind drifted over the billionaire, Happy couldn't help the small sigh that fell from his lips. It wasn't much of a secret that Tony was struggling. It didn't surprise Happy. He'd seen the man when he'd returned from Siberia. It...it was bad. Like...like _really_ bad. Of course, with him being Tony, the man easily played off any and all concerns towards him.

Happy had been with the man long enough to know when he was lying and when he wasn't. And this was nothing more than another lie. Just another cover to deflect any and all comforting words or pitying looks. He knew Tony couldn't stand being pitied.

Despite their constant squabbling, Happy could honestly say Tony was family, and it pained him seeing his friend struggle like this. He'd fully been expecting the man to shut himself off, to refuse any help and delve into a downward spiral, something he'd had the misfortune of experiencing before.

But something was different this time.

Two days ago, he'd had to help Pepper, Rhodey and most of the staff search the building for their missing employer. At first glance, Happy had assumed that the man was off drinking in private somewhere. But much to his shock, Pepper had explained that the man was actually roaming around the tower with _Peter!_

Somehow, the teen had done something that not even Tony's closest friends had been able to do. He got him to relax, open up, have fun, even if it was only for a couple hours.

He'd distracted him.

Happy glanced back up at the mirror, taking in the teen sitting in the backseat once again. At first glance, the teen didn't seem like anything special, but somehow he'd been able to basically do the impossible. He'd somehow gotten on Tony Stark's good side.

Happy could honestly say he didn't know all that much about Peter, other than that he had a pretty shitty life and he wasn't all that comfortable around strangers. But there was obviously something else there. Something else that Tony had seen, something he _connected_ with.

Somehow, this kid had been able to penetrate the billionaire's sharp, thorny exterior, if only for a little while, and he'd brought out something brighter. He'd brought out a little bit of the old Tony, something they'd feared had been killed off in Siberia

 _I don't know what you're doing kid..._ Happy thought to himself. _...but I suggest you keep on doing it. For Tony's sake._

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Living Quarters**

**03:34 p.m.**

The fact that Tony barely even moved as Rhodey draped the blanket over his sleeping form was enough to send a jolt of concern shooting through the colonel. However, taking into consideration the number of days he assumed the billionaire had gone without sleep, Rhodey could honestly say he shouldn't have expected anything less.

Didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Tony looked pretty awful now that he wasn't hiding behind forced smiles and purposely avoiding their gazes. The bags under his eyes continued to darken, his hair was messy and unkempt and the lines on his face seemed to deepen with each passing day. All in all, he seemed...old.

Rhodey glanced down at his watch, brows furrowing as he took in the time. Assuming Tony had fallen asleep shortly after their little talk with Pepper, then that meant he'd been asleep for around four hours. Knowing Tony, Rhodes assumed the man had only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes at the most. Of course, Rhodey wasn't about to wake him up. Any sleep was good enough when it came to his idiot best friend.

Glancing over towards the glass coffee table in front of the couch, Rhodes took notice of the Stark Pad sitting on the surface. With a small sigh, the colonel reached down and plucked up the device, flipping it open as he tapped his fingers across the screen, pulling up the most recent files.

As he'd expected, they were files of info on the up and coming meetings with the Senate and the UN delegates regarding the newest revisions to the Accords. The man let out a tired groan. It seemed that with each passing day a new revision or law was being added or revised within the Accords.

Of course, Tony had to go over each and every one of these changes, speaking out whenever one took things a step too far in regards to individual rights and freedoms, something that happened all too often. With the numerous meetings that were being scheduled day in and day out, Rhodes had volunteered to become somewhat of an assistant to the billionaire, taking his place in such affairs whenever needed.

Scrolling down on the screen, Rhodes skimmed over the papers and documents being displayed as he mulled the information over in his head. He stole a silent glance over towards the exhausted man sleeping on the couch before narrowing his eyes, tightening his grip on the pad as he made his way over towards the elevator, the soft whirring of his leg braces filling his ears. Tony didn't have to concern himself with _this_ particular meeting.

"D-wing, FRI." He called as he turned his attention back to the screen.

" _Right away, Colonel."_ The elevator immediately began to descend back down to the occupied floors as Rhodey scrolled back up to the very first file as he began to fill himself in on the information he would need while taking Tony's place in this upcoming meeting.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Rhodey wordlessly stepped out, intent on making his way over towards the large, usually empty lounge located on this floor. It was generally unoccupied, most of the employees unaware that it even existed, making it the perfect place to do work (that you really didn't want to do in the first place).

Rhodes let an annoyed scoff fall from his lips as his eyes scanned over the files. _Geez, how can they seriously expect this to fly with us?_ He muttered to himself as he re-read some of the new implications they wanted to add to the Accords. The documents were already a mess of rules, regulations, and injunctions that needed to be cleared. Of course, all the drama with the Rogue Avengers wasn't much help in the matter.

The colonel felt his grip on the pad tighten at the thought of the other Avengers, an involuntary jolt of pain flaring in his legs.

Safe to say, he'd been one of the first people to tell Tony that becoming a part of some psycho, superpowered team of circus freaks probably wasn't the best idea. He'd known Tony for the longest time, and if there was one thing he knew about him, it was that he didn't get along well with others.

So, constructing an entire team revolving around a center of trust and connection? Rhodey knew it could only end badly.

And yet, he'd been pleasantly surprised. After a few months, he'd begun to see something change in his best friend. For the longest time, he'd been a real pain in the ass. He'd always been headstrong and stubborn, arrogant, narcissistic and just a _tad_ full of himself. Just a _tad._ However, while most people blew off this behavior as just something that evolved in a person born of such privilege and wealth, Rhodey knew that wasn't the case.

He'd known Tony as a scared, nerdy fourteen-year-old who was severely out of place at MIT. IN fact, the only thing that connected him to everyone else was his brain, and even in _that_ department, he was different. After all, he could basically make anyone look like the biggest idiot just by talking to them.

Of course, that didn't really fly with some of the other students.

So, throw in a couple of bullies here and there, and you have a recipe for disaster. There were days Rhodey wondered what might have happened to Tony had he not been assigned as his roommate.

At first, Rhodey had been just as confused and annoyed at the teen's presence in the school. After all, he'd worked his butt off just to get his application _looked_ at and here comes this annoying fourteen-year-old who more likely than not just had to get his father to call up the school to get in. It was no wonder why nobody liked him.

However, after a few weeks, Rhodey began to understand the true reason as to why Tony was at that school. The kid was a _fucking_ genius! There were times when he made the teachers and professors look like babbling idiots. Of course, such a fact fell on deaf ears to the people that refused to see him as anything other than that privileged rich brat.

Of course, basically being his only friend at that school, Rhodey fell into the slot of protective best friend/temporary bodyguard. Most kids had the brains to leave the shy boy alone whenever Rhodey was with him. Quickly become something of a big brother to the kid, Rhodey and Tony quickly became an inseparable pair. But it still never seemed to be enough

With the constant berating and bullying, Rhodey watched as that shy, nervous teen began to evolve into something else. His quiet demeanor shifted into a snarky, prickly exterior, with a large mouth and a cocky attitude, with the skills and the brains to back it up. Every insult thrown at him was instantly hurled back with a dazzling smirk and a snarky retort.

Throw in the fact that Tony's father all but barely even _looked_ at him right up to his untimely death, and you had the makings of a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Team player? Not so much.

So, of course, watching Tony become so close to the Avengers had been an extreme shock, one that both delighted and worried Rhodey all the same. He watched as his best friend began to finally emerge from the shell he'd created in college and reach out towards other people, reviving just a little bit of that young, trusting fourteen-year-old Rhodey had met.

But as it turns out, Rhodey had been right to be worried. For as he'd expected, things hadn't lasted.

Of course, he'd never expected it to affect Tony as badly as it had. Safe to say, Rhodey had seen both the best and the worst from Tony Stark. He'd seen him at his highest and at his lowest, and he'd been with him through it all. He'd protected the kid. He'd comforted the orphan. He'd even fought alongside the superhero. But he'd never expected to have to console the grieving teammate.

Honestly, there were days where Rohdey was surprised his best friend was still alive. After all, there seemed to be more attempts on his life than the President's. But each and every time somebody threatened him, whether it was schoolyard bullies, psychopathic businessmen or government assholes, Rhodey could honestly say he'd had a very strong urge to punch each and every one of them in the face

But he'd never wanted to punch a face _more_ than when he thought of Steve Rogers and the other Avengers.

Quickly taking a calming breath, the man pressed two fingers to his eyes as he sighed loudly, mentally taking note of the fact that he was approaching the lounge. However, upon entering, he was surprised to realize he wasn't the only one in the room.

Sitting in the corner of one of the larger couches sat one Peter Parker. The teen was surrounded by different papers and folders, a large textbook laying open on the seat next to him, an old, raggedy backpack sitting by his feet. The teen was so absorbed in the work around him that he never even noticed the colonel enter the room.

Well, at least until Rhodey cleared his throat.

Peter's eyes flicked upwards and Rhodey nearly laughed at the shocked look that fell on the teen's face. Of course, the instant tenseness of his muscles, as well as the quick addition of fear in the teen's face dispelled any and all amusement he might have been feeling.

"M-Mr. Colonel Rhoes, S-Sir!" He exclaimed, quickly rising up to his feet, ignoring the papers that fluttered to his feet at his sudden movements. "I..I was just...I m-mean I didn't t-think anyone u-used this r-room and..." He paused, taking note of the folders and papers that were now littering the floor.

He stooped down to his knees and frantically began to collect them, crumpling them in his hands as he brought them close, barely even worrying about keeping them neat anymore. "I-I'm s-s-sorry. I c-can go to another...a-another room i-if...if you want m-me t-" His eyes, which had been locked onto the papers before him, glanced up slightly in surprise as Rhodey handed him one of the papers that had fallen near his foot.

"You're good, kid. You don't have to go anywhere." He said with a small smile.

The gesture didn't seem to do much to calm the teen's nerves as he ripped the paper out of the man's hands, cheeks flushing red as he scooped up the remaining papers and deposited them back onto the couch.

With one last nervous glance towards the colonel (a gesture that reminded Rhodey of a mouse eyeing a hungry cat), Peter slowly moved to sit back down on the couch. Taking hold of his pencil once more, he tried to ignore the shaking of his hand as he fought to keep his eyes glued to his paper.

Rhodey stood still for a minute, unsure of how to proceed. Should he leave, or was this what Tony had been hoping for? _I'm guessing he didn't mean scare the teen out of his wits._ The colonel muttered to himself.

Before he could decide, Peter hesitantly voiced his own doubts. "Umm...w-what are...what are you d-doing...here?" He asked softly.

Rhodey glanced down at the teen, opening his mouth to respond, only to be cut off as Peter turned his fear-stricken eyes towards him. "I mean...n-not that you aren't like...not that you c-can't be in...in here I mean you h-have been here a-a lot longer than I have and... _not_ that you're old or anything I-I just m-meant that...that you have _seniority_ a-and that I...I'm just..." He seemed to forcefully snap his jaw shut before he could vomit out any more garbage, cheeks deepening in their harsh red color as his curls drooped down to cover his panicking eyes.

"S-Sorry..."

For not the first time in his life, Rhodes was shocked silent, barely reserving enough sense to keep his jaw from hanging open. _Jesus, Tones. You really weren't kidding_." He thought to himself as he stared at the teen who seemed to be inching closer and closer to a panic attack with every breath he took.

Finally, taking another second to clear his throat (wincing slightly as Peter flinched back at the noise), Rhodey gestured lamely towards the pad in his hands. "I was just coming down here to do a little bit of work." He explained, Peter trailing hesitant eyes on him. "How 'bout you, kid? What are you doing down here?"

Peter blinked up at him before glancing back down. "I, uh...well when I came in h-here, I...I asked FRIDAY if s-she knew where Mr. Stark w-was and...and she said that he was asleep and that s-she could wake him up for me if I w-wanted her to." He fiddled with the pencil in his hand. "I...I told her no, I-I don't really know if I was a-actually allowed to do that but...but Mr. Stark l-looked really tired the last time I-I saw him s-so...so I thought I'd just let him sleep." He flicked the piece of paper in his grasp. "I have enough work to k-keep myself busy anyway."

Rhodey gave the teen a thoughtful look, surprised at the teen's willingness to disregard his own needs in favor of Tony's. After reassuring himself that the teen wasn't about to pass out or anything, the colonel tilted his head towards the unoccupied cushions next to the teen. "You don't mind if I sit, do you?"

Peter bit his bottom lip as he dropped his gaze, silently shaking his head as his grip on the pencil tightened. Giving a small nod, Rhodey moved around the couch and gently took a seat next to the noticeably tense teen.

Flipping open the tablet once again, Rhodey began to bring up the files once again, only this time, his attention was anywhere but. Instead, he opted to watch the teen next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Peter's right leg was now balancing on top of his left knee, his foot bouncing nervously against the cold tile floor. Resting on his leg sat another folder, sheets of crumpled paper laying on top. Locks of curly brown hair drooped down in front of the ten's eyes, but he didn't seem to pay it much attention as he fought to keep his hand steady while focusing on his work. Actually, now that Rhodey looked at them, he could make out a deep discoloration marring the teen's wrists, a mix of blues and deep purples. Before he could double-check to make sure he wasn't imagining anything, Peter subconsciously pulled his sleeves down, the skin disappearing underneath his layers.

Rhodey bit his cheek in deliberation as he wondered once again about what the best course of action was regarding the boy. He could opt to stay silent and respect the boy's obvious wishes to be left alone. But he knew that such a thing would do nothing in easing and settling the tension that already existed between them. Plus, he just _knew_ he would have to hear it from Tony about how he'd "chickened out" of talking to a fourteen-year-old kid.

With a small annoyed sigh, Rhodey set the StarkPad down and rested his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at Peter. "Calculus, huh?" He asked with a slight tone of uncertainty.

_Thank god Tony's basically unconscious right now or I would never live this down._

Peter blinked in slight confusion, obviously not having been expecting the colonel to wish to speak to him. "...huh?" He asked softly.

Rhodey gestured towards the papers in Peter's lap. "You know, I thought Calculus was saved for upper-classmen. Tony told me you were just a freshman."

The teen blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh right, s-sorry. Um...m-my teachers thought I s-should move up a...a couple of levels. I...I just d-didn't argue with them." He murmured quietly.

His foot began to tap faster.

"Right..." Rhodes breathed out, unsure of how he should continue, if at all. "Uhh...s-so...how _is_ school going for you, anyway?" He asked, wondering if his uncomfortableness was obvious on his face. He hoped not.

He watched Peter, expecting the teen to fumble for another response. However, the teen remained silent as he took in the colonel's question, his face growing thoughtful for a moment as his brows furrowed. He licked his lips and looked away, a small breathy laugh escaping him as he blinked rapidly, lifting his gaze towards the ceiling with a look that resembled... _exasperation?_ Rhodey didn't even think the boy _could_ look annoyed.

"What is it?" He asked, hoping to not scare away whatever flicker of life the teen was showing.

Peter glanced over at him for a moment before looking away, the small smile remaining on his face as he rubbed at his neck once again. "N-nothing, it's just that..." He trailed off for a moment. "t-that seems to be something you g-guys do." He murmured.

Rhodey furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

The teen's shoulders bobbed slightly as he huffed in amusement. "I mean...w-whenever you all are uncomfortable or something...you...you always seem to a-ask me about school or whatever. Like it's t-the only thing you're sure I actually _do._ " He explained. Rhodey noticed the teen's voice held no venom. Only a small note of sadness.

However, the teen didn't display this as he tapped his pencil against his paper, a gentle smile forming on his face as he turned to the colonel. "You don't have to do this."

Rhodey blinked back at the teen, his confusion clearly evident. "Do what, kid? You're not really making much sense right now."

That seemed to bring Peter back just a little bit as he lowered his gaze. "S-sorry. I just mean...you don't h-have to try and g-get to know me." He sighed, turning away. "I k-know this is probably a b-big inconvenience for you. Having some random t-teenager in your building and whatnot and...and I know M-Mr. Stark probably told you to t-talk to me and stuff but...b-but you really don't have to." He said, his voice gentle and kind. However, it had little effect, for his words made Rhodey want to recoil.

"I...I-I know I make people uncomfortable. You. M-Ms. Potts. Even Mr. Stark. B-but just because _he's_ putting up with me...it...it doesn't mean y-you have to, too. I...I'm just some stupid teenager and...and y-you're this super important government liaison for the _frikkin_ Avengers." He chuckled. "I k-know I'm not worth your time." He lowered his gaze. "I'm not worth Mr. Stark's time either, but I...I guess I entertain him or something, so he...he's keeping me around for the time being, at l-least until I stop amusing him so...so I guess I'll be here for a while. I'm sorry for that, too."

Rhodey felt his grip on the couch tighten.

Peter fiddled with the pencil in his grip as he dropped his head back down. "I...I can tell Mr. Stark you talked to me. I c-can tell him y-you're really cool and fun a-and whatever else you want so that he doesn't g-get mad at you."

He stared back up at Rhodes with his large brown eyes. "So...y-you can go now. Your obligation's c-complete." He said, his face conveying a look that said the kid thought he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, as if his words _weren't_ some of the most gut-wrenching things Rhodey had ever had a child say to him.

 _Does...does he actually...believe this?_ Rhodes asked himself as Peter turned back towards his homework. _That...that I'm only doing this cause I have to, cause_ WE _have to?_ But the innocence behind the teen's words gave him his answer.

"I...kid...it-it's not...like that-" He started, only for Peter to speak up once again.

"Isn't it?" He asked as he tossed his hand up. "It's t-the same thing all the time. Whether...whether it's here, school, those boring financial galas my f-father drags me to, everyone's always...always the same." He growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at the floor. "They f-find the one thing they can use in me, my brain, my work, my frikkin connection to my d-dad! And they forget everything else, as if...as if I _am_ nothing else."

He paused, the anger in his face melting away, quickly being replaced with a saddened look of acceptance. "Which...I don't know...I guess they have a point."

Rhodey could only stare back at the boy, watching as Peter collected his papers back into the folder by his side, cramming the entire thing back into his backpack. "Anyway...I-I'm sorry for taking up y-your time, sir." He murmured softly as he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and stood. "I'll...I'll leave you alone now." He said nothing else as he began to make his way over towards the exit.

The colonel watched the teen begin to leave, his words making a familiar feeling rise up in his gut. A feeling he hadn't felt in decades. A feeling that had him opening his mouth before he could think better of it.

"You know _he_ used to say the same thing."

Peter stopped in the doorway. Rhodey could see him tense as he deliberated whether or not he should actually stay. Thankfully, after a moment, the teen hesitantly turned back, a look of confusion marring his features.

The man let out a small sigh as he stared back at the teen. "Back when we were kids, or well...back when _he_ was a kid. I was, you know, the _proper_ age to be when you're in college." He said with a light chuckle.

"M-Mr. Stark?" Peter asked quietly, remembering reading up on something that had confirmed that Tony had been around his age when he'd gone to college.

Rhodey nodded his head. "Yeah. Tony was...well, I guess...a little like you." He murmured, watching as Peter continued to stare back at him with his large hazel eyes. "He was...quiet, reserved, kind of reclusive, definitely nothing like the jackass he is today." He muttered, a small hint of **joy** flaring in his chest as he watched Peter give a small laugh.

"Anyway...when I met him, he _thought_ a lot like you, too." He mused, watching as Peter slowly dropped his bag back down on the floor, hesitantly taking a seat on one of the armrests of the nearby chair.

"Considering who his father was, it was safe to assume that a _lot_ of people out there wanted to use him, and on some level...it was true. Kids would use him, teachers would try and blackmail him, even business hacks would try and coax him into revealing some of his father's secrets." He explained. "There was even a point, when we first met, that he assumed I was using him too."

Peter glanced down at the floor, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Yeah...he thought a lot like you, kid. But it wasn't true then and it still isn't true now."

The teen's eyes quickly lifted back up, Rhodey walking over to place a hand on the kid's shoulder. He could feel Peter tense up underneath his grip, but the teen didn't shy away, so he didn't either. "I know where you're coming from, kid. Considering who your dad is, I'm guessing people must try this kind of shit on you all the time." He muttered.

By the way Peter ducked his head away, Rhodey assumed he'd hit the nail on the head.

"But like I told that bumbling idiot in college, I couldn't give a tiny rat's ass about who your dad is." He scoffed, Peter giving him a strange look. "I'm not doing this for money, or fame, or to avoid getting in trouble with my best buddy - whose ass I could totally kick by the way so I don't know where you're getting your information. I'm doing this...because _I_ want to, because I want to know about that kid standing next to me, whether he's a college kid who's way out of his depth or a nervous intern working for my friend. Cause to me...he seems like someone worth getting to know."

Peter stared up at him, large brown eyes blinking up in a way that made Rhodey understand everything Tony had been rambling on about since he'd first met the teen. "Now...I'm like Tony on this one, kid. This whole thing is a little new to me, so you're just gonna have to be a little patient with me." He smirked. "But I promise I'll get the hang of it sooner or later."

The teen gave a small chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. "M-maybe you guys should get a book on this or something. I...I think it would save you a lot of hassle."

Rhodey scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What? A _How to Talk To Your Company's Newest Child-Intern?_ You know, I think that's one of the library's best sellers this year." He muttered while Peter gave a scoff of his own. "Yep...you're definitely a f-friend of Mr. Stark."

"Hey, I take insult to that!"

The teen gave a laugh while the Colonel chuckled. The tense feeling that had settled over the two slowly began to evaporate as they sat together, and for the first time, Rhodey finally began to see what both Tony and Pepper had been talking about. Maybe this kid _was_ as good as they said.

. . .

"You wanna hear some more embarrassing stories about Tony?"

. . .

. . .

"...yeah."

* * *

_"~Try to remember...the kind of September...when life was slow, and oh, so melow~"_

_Tony's eyes snapped open as the music filtered into his ears. He knew this song. It was his mother's favorite. It would basically play nonstop in his house all the time. He could rely on it to be playing whenever he would wake up or visit._

_But he hadn't heard it in decades. Not since what happened. He just couldn't. It was too painful._

_Of course, that wasn't the_ only _strange thing going on around him._

_He currently sat in the backseat of his father's car, the familiar feel of the weathered handle where he would scratch nervously felt underneath his hands. He could still feel the fingernail imprints carved into the wood._

_"~Try to remember...the kind of September...when grass was green, and grain was yellow~"_

_He turned towards the front of the car, his hands curling as he took in the sight of his mother and father sitting quietly, not saying a word. He prayed they would remain like that. God forbid they try and speak to him._

_Ripping his eyes away from the sight, he gazed around the rest of the backseat and noticed the strangeness of it. While most of it was familiar, there were many things that didn't belong. The various bottles of scotch - empty bottles, the tools and inventions strewn about the floor, the red and blue shield laying propped up against the door._

_Tony blinked the shock from his eyes and instead turned back towards the seat in front of him. He noticed there was a piece of paper stuck in between the folds of the leather._

_" ~Try to remember...the kind of September...when you were a tender and callow fellow_

_Tentatively reaching a shaky hand forward, he wrapped his hand around the paper and pulled it out, revealing it to be a newspaper. Turning it towards him, he noticed it had a large picture of both Steve, Bucky and the Rogue Avengers on the front with a tattered Iron Man suit lying at their feet, a large main headline printed above it in dark, bold,_ permanent letters.

**_CAPTAIN AMERICA ENDS THE MADNESS - IRON MAN TURNED TO SCRAP METAL  
American Savior kills destructive billionaire in stunning victory_ **

_He could feel his fingers curling around the paper, his breath coming out in strangled gasps. Throwing the paper down as fast as he could, Tony ran a hand through his hair as he fought to steady his breathing, though he knew it was a losing battle._

_"What's wrong, sweetie?"_

_He whipped his head up, meeting his mother's gentle gaze as she turned around in her seat to stare back at him. "You seem a little pale."_

_Tony couldn't hold back his bitter scoff as he glanced over towards his window. "Yeah, well...that's rich...coming from a dead woman." He growled out, his fingernails cutting into his palms as he clenched his fists. He could hear a small huff sound from the front. "And we just can't disappear fast enough for you, huh?" His father muttered._

_Tony narrowed his eyes, his teeth grinding together as he turned fully to stare out the window, only for his eyes to widen at the sight. Before him lay the tattered remains of Sokovia, the city burning before him as bodies lay scattered around the road, charred, bloody and broken. A large plume of black smoke billowed out into the air, turning the sky a deep shade of grey._

_"~Try to remember...and if you remember...follow...follow~"_

_"What is this?" He whispered out, his voice shaking as he stared back up at his parents. He watched his mother stare at him with sadness in her gaze. "You know what this is, baby." She murmured lovingly, gently touching his hand. "This is your legacy."_

_He turned to stare back out the window, at the paper lying at his feet, at the stained shield next to him. He ripped his hand away. "No...no, I never wanted..._ this. _I just...I tried but..." He couldn't finish. He let out a soft groan as he rested his head in his hands. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're dead." He growled, mostly to himself than to anything else._

_"Are we dead? I don't know. I feel pretty real." Howard quipped from the driver's seat._

_Tony let out an annoyed sigh and glared back out the window. However, the obvious dismissal did little to deter his father. "I can't say I'm surprised by all of this, son." He muttered from his seat, eyes never leaving the road. "It's the same thing over and over again. You screw up. You try and fix it, and in the end, you just screw it all up even more."_

_"Gee, thanks, Dad." Tony muttered, trying not to let the true effect of the words show on his face._

_"And now you're going about it again."_

_As he continued to stare out the window, Tony couldn't help but sit up a little straighter as he caught sight of something in the distance, standing next to the road. He narrowed his eyes as the car drove closer, inching himself towards the window as he placed a hand against the glass. As they quickly approached, his eyes widened in shock as the car sped past Peter, Tony catching the empty look on the teen's face as they shot past._

_"You honestly think you can help this boy?"_

_" ~Deep in December...it's nice to remember...althought you know, the snow will follow~"_

_He whipped back around towards the front, where his father was still speaking. His mother had turned back around to face the road, her loving eyes now nowhere in sight, leaving him alone to the mercy of his father's words._

_"Come on now, Tony! You can barely even help yourself! And you certainly couldn't help us."_

_The billionaire furrowed his brow, never even noticing as the surroundings outside the car began to change, the burning city being replaced with a dark, silent road, no other cars in sight save for the lone motorcycle coming up behind them._

_"You couldn't even catch our killer."_

**_BANG!_ **

_Tony slammed painfully into the side of the car as it jerked back, the treeline along the side of the road speeding closer._

_**CRRAAASSSHHH!** _

_. . ._

_. . ._

_"~Deep in December...our hearts should remember...and follow...follow..."_

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Living Quarters**

**04:13 p.m.**

Tony jerked awake violently, his eyes wild and his chest heaving as he fought to remember where he was. taking a second to drink in the sight of the sleek walls and clean furniture, he slowly began to realize he was in the Tower. Blinking away the last remnants of his dream, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, placing his head in his hands as he concentrated on keeping his breathing even and steady.

It had become sort of a routine after every nightmare he had. Safe to say, he was basically a pro at it by now.

Still, such a thing didn't make the dreams any easier to deal with. Dragging a hand down his face, the man rested his hands against his mouth as he stared down at the floor, the sound of crunching metal and fading music ringing in his ears.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the tiled floors, thinking of how many bottles he could down before Rhodes or one of the others came to check up on him. Finally, a tired sigh fell from his lips as he rose up to his feet, the blanket that had been situated on his lap falling to the floor.

Absentmindedly, he reached down to pick it up, only to take note of the fact that it hadn't been there when he'd first fallen asleep. With a furrowed brow, he stared down at the cloth before realization finally pinged in the back of his mind. _And to think he didn't even bring me my sleeping mask_. He thought to himself, unable to keep the small smile from his face.

Folding the blanket quickly, he placed it down on the couch and glanced over at his watch. _I should be able to get those reactor blueprints out before Peter gets here and- oh, SHIT!_ His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he stared down at the hands on his watch, shaking his wrist frantically as he wondered momentarily if his watch was broken.

He'd been asleep for nearly _FIVE_ hours!

And Peter was already here...

_SHIT..._

He was in the elevator before he could even blink, shouting at FRIDAY to take him to whatever level the kid was on while simultaneously cursing out his best friend for not waking him up, any and all warm feelings he'd been having towards him quickly going up in flames. He tried to ignore the ringing echo of his father's words as the elevator doors opened up onto the new floor.

Combing a hand through his hair while simultaneously placing a pair of sunglasses over his assumingly dead eyes, Tony slid his hands over his suit in an attempt to rid his appearance of any and all traces of the sluggishness he was feeling as he approached the lounge corner.

The sound of Peter's voice met his ears. He opened his mouth, a snarky quip on the tip of his tongue as he made to round the corner, only to freeze as he took in the sight before him.

"No he did not!"

"I swear! I swear he did! Anyway, it was easy for him to get the cow _up_ the stairs, but nobody could get it _down_. So all in all, the school had to call in a crane just to get it out of the stairway."

"And _nobody_ ratted him out?"

"Well I mean, once people figured out it was him, his street-cred in the school basically _skyrocketed_. Nobody was gonna ruin _that._ The respect was real. Besides, everyone was just having a good time watching the dean go into hysterics."

Peter couldn't help the laughs that spilled from him, his hands going to cover his mouth as his eyes shut, his body hunching over on the couch as he fought to take a breath. It was a losing battle. Rhodey sat on one of the adjacent couches, a similar smile on his face while Pepper stood behind him, an amused glint in her eyes. Happy sat on the armrest of another couch, his eyes rolling in exasperation while a small smile graced his lips.

"You think that's bad?" Pepper scoffed. "You haven't lived until you're in a meeting with the Senate and your boss hacks the PA system to loop the Macarena throughout the _entire_ building."

"Are you _serious?_ Peter gasped, mouth ajar as more giggles spilled out.

"They called the meeting out early. He only did it cause he was hungry and wanted some Chick-fil-A." Happy muttered

Peter exploded into another fit of laughter, only this time, the others were quick to follow. Honestly, Tony didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed. Probably a little of both, wth a sprinkling of pride. Those really were some of his best moments.

"Oo! Are we talking about me?" He asked as he decided to make his presence known. "I must say, I'm a little hurt I was excluded. You know how much I love talking about me, especially when we're talking about how wonderful I am."

He watched as all four people turned to face him, a strange feeling sparking in his chest as he watched Peter's already cheery expression grow even happier as he caught sight of his mentor, a large smile spreading on face.

Judging by the looks Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were giving him, they had caught the teen's shift as well. He cast them small glared of warning before turning towards the teen, clasping him on the shoulder. Peter only tensed for a moment before relaxing. "What's up, kiddo? Where you been, you hidin' or something?" He asked with a smirk.

Peter showed no signs of annoyance at having to wait for the man, simply beaming up at him as he glanced back over towards Rhodey. "I was just talking to Colonel R-"

"Rhodey, kid." The colonel corrected, folding his arms over his chest as he threw the teen a smile. "It's just Rhodey."

"Heh...Rhodey. I was talking to Rhodey. He has some...interesting stories about you." He said, choosing his words carefully as he gazed back up at the man. "Does he, now?" Tony asked, casting the man a look to which Rhodes held up his hands innocently.

"Well, I might just have to return the favor sometime. After all, I'm not the only one with a colorful history." He scoffed, smirk growing as he caught sight of the colonel's pale look.

Pepper let out an amused huff as she smoothed her hands along the hem of her skirt. "Well, I, unfortunately, don't have time to play games and swap stories like you boys." She teased, the men throwing her light glares as she patted them on the shoulder before resting a gentle hand on Peter's head. The teen ducked slightly before letting a small smile rest of his face. "I'll see you later, Peter." She called sweetly as Happy began to follow her out, patting the teen on the shoulder as he left.

"See you later, Happy. Bye, Ms. P - _Pepper._ " He corrected, remembering how she'd chastised him in a similar manner to Rhodey.

Said man rose up to his feet, the soft whirring of his braces meeting their ears. "I have some work to do as well. So if I'm excused from Babysitting Detail..." He murmured, ruffling Peter's hair as the teen gave him a disgruntled look (that had very little effect considering it only made him look cuter).

As he walked over, he and Tony shared a silent look. Rhodey gave a small smile to the inquisitive look on his friend's face, nodding his head in a knowing fashion. Tony glanced back down towards Peter before giving a smile of his own. _Told ya' so._ His gaze seemed to say.

"See ya' Tones." The man said, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he began to make his way out of the room. "See you later, Squirt."

Tony turned to watch him leave, his chest feeling much lighter than it had in a _while_. He rested his hand on Peter's shoulder as the teen looked up at him expectantly. "Well, you ready to go to work?" He asked with a smirk.

Peter grinned once again, his hazel eyes seeming to glow with anticipation as he began to bounce around on his feet while Tony lead him towards the elevator, the action reminding Tony of an excited puppy. "Yeah! I was thinking about those designs for the reactor and I came up with some new ideas last night!"

"Last night? You mean when you should have been sleeping and dreaming like a good little Spider-Child?" He scolded in a mocking tone.

Peter scoffed indignantly. "I _did_ dream. I dreamed about those designs!"

Tony couldn't help but bark out a laugh at that, Peter giggling by his side as they walked. After a minute, Peter's face grew thoughtful, his nose scrunching up slightly, something Tony had noticed only happened when he had a question he was a little unsure of asking.

"I know that look, kid." He called, Peter glancing up at him. "What's on your mind?"

. . .

. . .

"In your junior year of college, did you _really_ get your hand stuck in a vending machine?"

"...I paid for my Doritos. I was _getting_ my Doritos."

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Upper East Side - Rooftop Garden**

**08:05 p.m.**

Peter stared up at the clouded, dark-grey sky, his hands folded underneath his head as he lay on the rooftop edge.

He wondered which stars were out underneath the thick layer of smog filling the sky. The only traces of light he could make out came from the moon, which hung lazily in the air above Central Park. As another brisk burst of wind flew around him, he sent another thought of thanks to the suit, which blocked the chilling winds from reaching his skin.

IT had been a relatively quiet night, save for a couple carjackers and an ATM robbery here and there. Finding himself with little to do, the Spider simply decided to climb up to his usual resting spot to take a breather for a while.

Mask resting on the ledge behind his head, Peter turned his head slightly as his eyes trailed over the lights in the distance, past the Hudson River. If he squinted, he could just make out the silhouette of his house in the shadows.

He could feel his fingers twitch slightly as he stared at the building before turning away with a tired sigh. The Cons and his father had still been out when he'd returned from Stark Tower, so it allowed him to actually eat dinner, finish his homework, and head out on patrol fairly quickly and quietly. It had also allowed him to slip on his suit without a stake of fear shooting through his heart with every thud from below or shout from the next room.

Of course, he was right to be afraid.

God forbid they ever figure out he was Spider-Man.

Peter shut his eyes tightly, his hands balling into fists underneath his head. He still remembered when he'd first gotten his powers. He couldn't have been any older than eight, maybe nine. By that point, he'd been dealing with his father's tests and experiments for years, with little to no results. With each failure, his father got worse and worse, to the point where Peter was afraid to even _look_ at him.

So, of course, when his father ran his tests to find that Peter was now suddenly enhanced, complete with super-strength, agility and heightened senses, he was both thrilled and shocked. After all, he hadn't expected any progress considering the last batch of tests had failed so spectacularly.

Of course, Peter didn't tell him that it wasn't the experiments at all, but a small radioactive spider that escaped from its container in his father's lab.

What his dad didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The same couldn't be said for Peter, however.

Since then, his father had been working nonstop to try and refigure Peter's blood, trying to recreate the effects he'd observed in his son. Of course, with the spider dead, Peter doubted the man would _ever_ be able to recreate the effects, but Richard didn't know that, so the tests continued.

Of course, that hadn't stopped his father from branching out into different areas of testing and experimentation. That was what turned the Cons from average douchebags to superpowered, evil douchebags. However, Peter knew his father would never stop trying to recreate his powers. Which meant the experiments would never stop, the robberies would never stop.

Peter could only assume _that's_ what his father needed the equipment for. New testing. New experiments. New equipment, right? After all, what else could he use that stuff for? His father's..." _activities"_ had been pretty under the radar for the longest time. After all, the police had no idea how such low-life, common robbers were breaking into such high-tech areas without triggering the alarms, so his endeavors were pretty much in the clear.

At least until Spider-Man arrived.

Granted, Peter _did_ have it a little easier, seeing as how if he evesdropped on his father and the Cons enough, he could hear the exact locations and spots they would hit in one night and prepare for them, stopping them before they even had a chance to react.

So...safe to say, his father wasn't a _big_ fan of Spider-Man. And if he ever found out that the man behind the mask, the man interfering with his business and foiling his plans was none other than the son he already ragged on constantly?

Well...Peter was certain the funeral wouldn't be open-casket.

The teen let out a small sigh and sat up on the ledge, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared out over the city. He knew the risks. He knew the dangers. Yet he still did it. There were days when he wondered why. Why would he put himself through this? Why would he make his life even harder than it already was? Why didn't he turn the other way like everyone else when it came to his father and his work?

Despite all these questions he constantly asked himself, he knew the answer. He knew all too well _"why"._

It was because everyone needed someone to look up to. It was because everyone needed someone watching their back, making sure they got to their car okay, or made sure their walk home was uneventful, or made sure their money was still there when they stopped by the ATM. It was so people like him, little people with little lives, continued to keep living those lives.

It was because he never wanted anyone to end up like him. Like May. Coming home to find out that those you love most aren't coming back.

Peter glanced over towards his side and reached over, grasping his mask. He said nothing as he stared at the material in his hands, running his thumbs over the smooth lenses.

He still remembered when he'd first donned the mask.

Despite all the shit he went through at home, there had always been one constant. Ben and May. They'd been his neighbors for as long as he could remember, and they'd always treated him like the son they'd never had. When his mother had passed away, they were right there, holding his hand when his father wouldn't. Drying his tears as he cried.

From then on, they'd continued to show their support, having him over for dinner whenever his father was away (or when he could _sneak_ away), helping him with his homework (even though he barely ever needed it), cleaning up the cuts and bruises he'd "gotten at school", never asking questions about the cuts and bruises he _definitely_ didn't get at school. They knew he would never answer them anyway.

For the longest time, May and Ben became like the parents he'd lost that night.

Then Ben was killed.

Because he just _had_ to move in front of Peter, in front of the bullet.

May didn't blame him like he blamed himself. But how could he _not_ blame himself? It seemed that everyone he loved, everyone who ever tried to protect him just ended up suffering because of it, because of _him._

He looked at that convenience store the same way he looked at the hallway closet. With guilt.

It was then that he swore to never be the one getting protected again. Instead, he would be the one protecting others. He would make sure nobody ever cried for their mom or mourned their husband.

He would make sure nobody _ever_ felt the way he felt constantly. Because nobody deserved to feel _alone._

Peter stared down at the mask for a second longer before shutting his eyes, a tired sigh slipping past his lips as he simply focused on breathing for a moment. Just in and out. Back and forth. Repeat. His fingers twitched against the mask. The wind blew strands of hair across his forehead. A scream tickled his ears.

. . .

...wait. What?

Quickly jolting into action, the teen shoved the mask back onto his head and rose up to his feet. In the distance, he could see a haze of glowing orange light crackling and illuminating the darkened sky as a plume of grey smoke rose up. Narrowing his eyes, he raised his arm and fired a web at the nearest building, leaping off the ledge as he began to swing towards the explosion.

Within a few moments, the teen was jumping on the roof of the building next to the explosion. Glancing over at the front of the building, Spidey took notice of the fact that he was standing before the East Town Engineering/ Chemical Manufacturing Building.

_Great._

That most likely meant the explosion was caused by an inside factor. Turning back towards the building itself, Peter noticed that the bottom half of the structure was glowing a bright orange, the windows shattering as flames poured out. The rest of the building itself looked as if it'd just been hit with a category four earthquake. The people who had been lucky enough to escape before the front door was compromised stood in front of the building as the structure whined in protest. The walls were cracked and crumbling. The windows were shattered, glass littering the floor like a glittery carpet and the metal foundations creaked ominously. From inside, more rumbling explosions could be heard.

 _Something tells me this thing isn't gonna hold for much longer._ Peter thought to himself as he fired a web at the most structurally sound part of the wall before him and swung forward.

Leaping through one of the broken windows, the teen rolled along the ground of the second floor (which didn't seem to be on fire yet) before hopping back to his feet. Inside, small flames smoldered in the corners of the room, not big enough to cause him concern, however. Still, the loud creaking and groaning underneath his feet _was._

Quickly spotting two employees huddled in the corner of the room, the ground splintering underneath their shivering feet, Spider-Man leapt into action. Glancing back over towards the window, he noticed two lampposts situated right outside the window. Firing a few webs, he successfully created a hammock out of his webs, hoisted between the two posts.

Without another thought, the teen fired another two webs at the employees, tugging them forward just as the ground fell away under their feet. He could still hear them screaming as he hurled them out the window, where they landed safely on the webbing.

Moving from room to room on that floor, Spidey continued the process with every employee he found, hurling them to safety before moving on to the next one. As he continued to work, he could feel the air becoming thicker as smoke from the lower levels continued to filter through.

On the third floor, the vigilante entered the last room he'd yet to clear, webbing up the man on the floor and yanking him to safety seconds before the huge filing cabinet could land on him. Hoisting the unconscious man into his arms, Peter shuffled over towards the window and smashed it with his elbow, webbing up another safety net before hurling the man out as well. He watched the paramedics hoist him down from the webs as he turned away.

Racing towards the stairwell once again, Spidey felt his heart thudding in his chest as he caught sight of the smoldering flames that seemed to blanket the bottom floor. He felt an unsettling feeling settle into his stomach at the sight but pushed it away, realizing there were most likely more people trapped down there. People who needed him.

However, before he could launch himself down towards the lower level, a sharp tingling erupted in the back of his head. Eyes widening, he had just enough sense to launch himself towards the nearest window before another explosion shook the entire building. He could feel the heat prickling at his back as the force of the explosion propelled him through the window.

As he tumbled through the air, he could just make out the approaching roof ledge he was hurtling towards. Bracing himself to tumble against the rough concrete, Peter did not expect to careen into another large warm force as he fell. However, the grunt of pain - that didn't come from him - that sounded on impact let him know that it was _definitely_ another person that he'd just rammed into. However, he didn't have much time to process that as he rolled along the roof, shards of glass and gravel piercing his skin painfully as his limbs twisted incorrectly.

As he rolled to a stop, the teen simply lay there for a moment, struggling to catch his breath as he scrunched his eyes in pain. His ears rang painfully in his head, a sharp grating noise that made him want to hurl.

Pushing down the nausea as it threatened to spill, the teen let out a pained groan as he slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees. As he tried to fight through the blistering pain thudding against his skull, he vaguely tried to recall what it was he'd rammed into on his way up. He didn't think he'd thrown any civilians onto the roofs, but perhaps he was wrong.

As he slowly began to crack open his eyes once again, his senses flared once more as the sound of a clicking safety pin tickled his ears. Snapping open his eyes, he couldn't help the strangled gasp of shock that fell from his lips at tight before him.

Of course, what reaction could one expect when they were staring down the barrel of a gun, held by none other than the Falcon as he leveled you a steely-eyed glare.

. . .

"Well... _shit."_


	9. Talons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know I'm a good guy. And I know for a fact that no Avenger would ever shoot down another hero in cold blood. No, that's something a fugitive would do" He spread his arms out. "But hey, if I'm wrong, if you're really what they're all saying, then it shouldn't be too hard for you to prove me wrong!"
> 
> He stepped closer.
> 
> "So go ahead..."
> 
> The tip of the gun rested against his chest as he inched closer.
> 
> "Shoot me."

**Friday, March 25, 2016**

**East Town Engineering/Chemical Manufacturing - Rooftops**

**08:24 p.m.**

Peter could feel his heart beating all the way down to his fingertips, which were poised on the ground in front of him as he rested on his hands and knees, his eyes trailing the gun in front of him. Considering he hadn't had much time to recover from the blast, the beating of his chest was fast and erratic, thrumming in frantic beats as his gaze never left the weapon before him.

(" _Yes. I suppose you're right.")_

**_BANG!_ **

Peter winced involuntarily. That was a mistake. Instantly, the gun inched closer as Falcon's grip tightened. "Don't you even _think_ about moving or I swear I will blow your freaking brains out." He growled, his eyes narrowed into thin slits.

He froze at that, his muscles tensing painfully as he waited for the man to make another move, for he sure wasn't making one anytime soon, not with his brain going on the fritz. Honestly, Peter was still trying to drink in the fact that one of the Rogue Avengers was here, standing right in front of him. The Falcon! A superhero he'd admired as a kid (granted, not as much as Iron Man, but still). And here he was! Right in front of him.

Despite what some might assume considering which side he'd fought for, the separation of the Avengers disappointed him just as much as it did any other teenager his age. These were superheroes he'd grown up admiring, believing in (despite his father's best efforts). Whether it was Iron Man, Captain America or even The Falcon, they had all been heroes to him and he - just like every other kid his age - had grown up to idolize them, to adore them and dream of finally coming face to face with one.

Well...here he was. Standing on a rooftop facing off against Sam Wilson aka The Falcon, Captain America's right-hand man. The man who'd aided the Captain in taking down a horde of helicarriers in Washington DC a few years back. The man who'd fought alongside the other Avengers, winning himself into the hearts of children by being the hero he was.

And he was pointing a gun at his face.

However, now that he was getting a good look at the man in front of him, it seemed like he was just as unnerved as Peter. His unoccupied hand was resting by his side, clenched tightly into a shaking fist. Sweat trickled down his face, disappearing behind his cracked goggles before dripping down his cheeks. His uniform was messy and ripped and many pieces seemed to be missing. Not only that, his wings also seemed to be slightly damaged. Add in the fact that he was shifting his weight back and forth between his legs and Peter could safely assume the man was basically thinking the same thing he was.

They were both in some serious shit.

Of course, taking into consideration the mask adorning his face, Peter - _Spider-Man_ decided to take the first step.

"Heh...I guess this means you remember me." He joked, following up with a small nervous chuckle. He hadn't forgotten the last time he'd met the man. The sound of shattering glass and metal hitting metal rang in his ears.

Obviously, something similar was happening to Falcon, for the man's grip on the gun tightened and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you could say that." He growled out, his voice cold and hard. Peter's eyes remained locked on the gun before him as the man stepped closer. "Now, I'm only going to ask this once." The man said, his words slow and precise, just articulated enough for the kid to get the message across that what he was saying was _not_ to be taken lightly.

" _Who_ sent you?"

Spider-Man furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly. "W-who...I-I don't...I don't under-"

His answer didn't seem to be good enough as the man took a few more steps forward, so much so that Peter had to flip over so that his back was facing the ground as he began to scoot backward on his hands, his gaze never leaving the approaching weapon. "Hey! I asked you a question! And I'm going to get an answer, you got me?" The man snarled, his posture stiff and rigid. The teen couldn't tell whether it was from anger or stress. He was willing to bet on a combination of both.

Peter didn't bother nodding. He could only assume it would make the man angrier. "Alright, now who the _fuck_ sent you?! Was it Stark?"

Spidey felt his fingers twitching against the concrete below him. "No...n-nobody sent me." He finally choked out, surprised at how level his voice was.

"Did you call anyone?"

"No."

Falcon narrowed his eyes and glanced away for a second, placing a hand over his mouth as he dragged it down his face, moving it to rub at the back of his neck as he kept his gun trained on the vigilante before him. "Alright. Does anyone else know I'm here?"

Spider-Man took in the man's agitated stance as he took a breath himself, taking a second to calm himself down. However, his eyes never left the gun on his face. Every second that passed with it still trailed on him was another growing bout of anxiety building up in his chest. However, he held onto his cool as he cocked his head. "Umm...not unless you count anybody in New York who watches the news."

The man gave him an odd stare. Spidey shrugged his shoulders. "Nearly every station in the city is broadcasting the live footage of you flying around all willy-nilly." He scoffed, fighting to keep his voice as flippant and unconcerned as possible, fighting to keep himself from simply slapping the gun out of his face. God, he wanted it gone NOW.

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be laying low, you sure like to fly around a lot." He muttered, thankful he didn't have to fake the same amount of coolness in his face as he did his voice. His body screamed at him to get the gun away. He could feel his heart beating in his chest like a drum.

Falcon threw him a glare but decided not to respond to the jab. Instead, he gave the teen a questioning look. "So, if you weren't sent here, then what the heck are you doing here?" He asked, fingers thrumming against the gun.

_(Get it away get it away get it away)_

Taking note of the opportunity, Peter raised up his arms, careful to watch the man as he tightened his grip on the gun as he gestured towards the burning building below. "Umm... _hellllooooo?_ " He called in a mocking tone.

Exactly as he'd expected, Falcon glanced away to follow the teen's gesture. Taking advantage of the split-second distraction, Spidey shot a web out, connecting it to the hilt of the gun before yanking it out of the man's hands. Falcon yelled in response as he moved his hand towards his hip. Assuming another gun as stashed away there, Spider-Man leapt up to his feet, ramming into the man's chest as the pair rolled along the ground.

He might have admired the Falcon in the past, but he was still a criminal, and _he_ was a hero. There was no decision to be made.

He felt the concrete slam painfully against his back as he felt the man push him down, pressing his elbow painfully against his collarbone as he tried to reach for his gun once again. Rearing his knee back, Peter jabbed him in the side, pushing him off balance as he punched him across the face, careful to reign his strength back.

The force was enough to have the man flying backward, where he skidded against the roof as Spidey raised himself up to his feet once again. Whipping his head to the side, Falcon took note of the gun that had been whipped from his grasp. Leaping forward, he stretched to grab it, only for Spider-man to shoot two more webs towards his outstretched hands.

Anticipating the attack, Falcon dropped down to his knees and swept the teen's legs out from underneath him, knocking the teen down to the ground with a yelp of shock. Rolling along the concrete, Falcon twisted his wrist, revealing the small knife concealed in the fabric. Tossing it into his hand, the man tensed as he faced off against the vigilante as he slowly began to rise back up.

The pair glared heavily at each other as they tried to anticipate the other's move, both wondering who would be the first to make a move. Feeling the jitteriness of his muscles thumping through his veins, Falcon lunged first, slashing the knife forward. Peter felt the tingle of anticipation blooming in the back of his head as he ducked underneath the weapon, slamming his own fist into the man's side.

Falcon buckled, but not as much as Peter had been expecting. Instead, the man slammed his elbow painfully into the teen's shoulder, whipping his knife once again. Spidey hissed as the weapon sliced across his forearm, exposing pale skin as it ripped through his suit. Stepping back, the teen raised his arms, blocking the approaching knife once again.

Swinging his other arm forward, Peter raised his own to block it as the pair continued to exchange blows and blocks, with the occasional slash of a knife as they fought to overpower the other. Even through the mask, he could tell that the man was shocked at the vigilante's abilities to block his blows. After all, he'd trained with Black Widow, _the_ top martial artist, and combat fighter. How could this no-name vigilante retaliate against that?

Finally, Peter leapt backward, landing on his hands as he shot his legs forward, slamming them into Falcon's chest. The man stumbled backward, falling to the floor as he grunted in pain. Righting himself, the kid raised his arm, web shooters poised. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could snap the man like a twig. God knew he had the training to do so, courtesy of the Cons. Of course, that didn't mean he actually wanted to hurt him. He barely even wanted to hurt the common thugs and lowlifes he encountered on a daily basis.

Still, this fight was starting to droll on. Plus, there _was_ a building that was...kinda...you know... _on fire._

Before he could fire any more webs, Falcon lunged to the side and grabbed the gun that had been previously knocked away. Peter let out a small curse as the man raised up the weapon, bullets firing his way.

Senses tingling frantically, the teen ducked below the oncoming hail and rolled to the side, firing another bout of webs at the man, hitting him in the legs. Yanking on the webs, he watched as Falcon dropped down to the ground.

Rolling along the concrete, the man raised up the gun once again, continuing to fire as the vigilante dodged and approached. He hissed as a bullet grazed his arm, leaping to the side to avoid the barrage before lifting himself up once again, Falcon doing the same.

Before either of them could make another move, a huge _BOOM_ sounded through the air, the roof shuddering at the noise. Peter crouched down to the ground to steady himself, catching Falcon out of the corner of his eye doing the same. Against his better judgment, the teen turned away from his combatant and gazed down at the building below.

The fire was beginning to spread, the upper-level floors now aflame in a similar fashion to the ones below it. The building exterior looked as if it could crumble away in a matter of minutes, constant shudders shivering throughout the foundation as burning flames shot through the windows and cracks. But the thing that really caught Peter's attention was the faint sound of screams coming from the lower levels of the building.

He bit his lip as he felt his fists clench before tightly shutting his eyes. Whipping back around, he found that Falcon was still trailing his gun on him, but a new bout of unease was settling into his eyes.

Peter clasped his hands together and shrugged his shoulders nervously. "Umm...do you think we can put this on hold for a little while?" He asked with a small grin.

Falcon cocked a brow. "Are you serious?"

The teen tried to block out the distant sound of screaming that his blasted senses could still pick up as he let out an aggravated sigh. "Look, I don't know about you, but I still consider myself a hero. And right now," He pointed down towards the building. " _those_ people need one right now. So I'm going. I don't care about you right now. If you want, fly out of here and disappear. I don't care. Cause those people need me a lot more than you do." He growled out, leaping up onto the ledge.

He glanced back down towards the building before turning back towards Falcon. "Look,I don't know what's going on with you and the other Avengers. I don't know if you really are some evil criminals now, but..." He turned back towards the building. "If you really are still the heroes I grew up believing in..." He turned back to face him. "Then you'll prove it now."

Without another word, without checking to see the man's reaction, Peter leapt off the ledge, swinging down towards the burning inferno. Spotting another shattered window, the teen swung through the small opening and landed on the shuddering floor. Instantly, he was bombarded with a wave of heat that nearly made him stagger backward.

Shaking through the fog that had quickly settled in his mind, the boy raced into the hallway, finding that the entire floor was now ablaze, bright orange light illuminating the rooms while simultaneously casting darkened shadows along the walls, floors, and ceiling.

Pinpointing the faint sound of cries and whimpers, the kid began to make his way towards the stairs. Wincing as he pressed his hand against the super-heated metal of the handrail, Peter jerked back and glared down the stairwell. Large flames blazed on either side of the pathway, including in the center of the stairs.

Craning his neck, the teen noticed that farther down the stairs, there was a path where the flames had yet to reach. Taking a steadying breath, Spidey took a few steps back before running forward, leaping into the air as he aimed for the safe spot. Feet touching down on warm metal, the teen rolled along the ledge before righting himself.

It didn't take him long to find the door leading into the next hallway. Pushing through the doorway, the kid gasped and rolled away as a huge burst of flame rushed the door, roaring loudly as it whooshed past him. Taking another steadying breath, the teen pushed through the door and landed on the floor, the roaring flames seeming to reach for him as he entered.

Above his head, the fluorescent lights flickered on and off, sparks cracking from the shattered bulbs. Wires hung down around his face, feeding the already growling fire that blazed through the hall. Pressing his hands against the closest door, Peter leaned closer as he tried to make out whether the sounds of crying were coming from nearby.

Detecting the sound of frightened voices beyond the door, the teen took a few steps back before ramming his shoulder into the door. The already crumbling material gave way to his strength as it crashed to the floor, loud shrieks of shock meeting his ears.

Lifting his head, Spider-Man made out the shape of two huddled figures in the corner, though it was hard to see through all of the smoke billowing around the room. Feeling the familiar tingle shivering up his spine, the boy glanced up and noticed that the ceiling above their heads looked ready to collapse any second.

Rushing forward, Spidey grasped the two people and caught sight of the window pressed up against the wall, seemingly leading into the next room, which looked to be alright. The ceiling creaked and whined ominously above their heads as Peter shot forward, the two workers in tow.

Their screams rang out around him as he shot them all through the window, the group landing painfully on the other side as the ceiling caved down around where they had once stood. A harsh cough passed through his chest as the teen slowly rose back up to his hands and knees, the other two slowly doing the same. Glancing around, Peter took note that they seemed to be in a lab of some sort. On the other side of the room, there was another window, this one leading to the outside.

Before he could push the pair towards safety, however, he grabbed onto the closest one, a man. "Doesn't this building have any protocols in place for something like this?" He asked, fighting to be heard over the roar of the flames.

The man stared at him frantically for a moment before licking his lips, shakily nodding his head. "Y-yeah, the...the sprinklers were supposed to go off. They're a high-powered model to deal with these kinds of chemical fires, b-but they didn't go off for some reason." He explained. "The system operates from down in the basement, but it's probably all up in flames by now. You'll never make it down there. He stated frantically before he began to push his coworker towards the window.

Peter could still hear the flames roaring around him as he watched the pair begin to climb out the window, the man's words making his heart sink. He still had an entire floor to clear, but judging from how the ceiling had collapsed not only seconds before, it wouldn't be long until the entire building did the same. The only other way to get around it would be to put out the flames by activating the sprinkler system.

"Hold on, you said the system was in the basement, right?" He called as the man glanced back at him. "If I can get down there, can I restart it?"

The man shook his head, eyes filling with unease. "It's a dual system. To restart it, you'll have to manually override the switches and it takes two people to do it." He explained, casting one last glance towards the teen. "You can't do it alone." He said before disappearing behind the ledge.

Peter felt despair begin to clench around his heart before a new voice made him jump in surprise. "Well, then I guess it's a good thing you aren't."

He whipped around to watch as Falcon stepped through the doorway, eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. "Now can we get a move on with this before we're both char-grilled?" He growled.

The kid didn't take the time to acknowledge the flutter of relief that washed through him at the man's presence, for he knew there was no time for such things. "We have to get down to the basement. But considering the stairwells are starting to resemble the gates of Hell right about now, we're gonna have to find another way in." He explained, casting a nervous glance towards the doorway, watching with bated breath as the fire inched closer.

The man nodded, seemingly trying to avoid glancing at the approaching flames as well as he gestured towards the door. "Come on, I think I have an idea." With that, he bolted through the opening without sparing a second glance behind him. Spidey was quick to follow as the pair quickly maneuvered towards the flaming stairwell.

The rising smoke and ash that plumed around the air was enough to make their eyes water, even Peter's, despite the mask covering his face. While he knew his suit had a filtration system for stuff like this, even _it_ was having a hard time pushing through the thick blanket of ash flying around him. With that, he cast a nervous glance towards Falcon. He knew the man hadn't been exposed to the toxic fumes as long as he had, but it was still a concerning thought.

Shaking it from his head, the pair stopped as they entered the stairwell, the dark, black clouds even thicker in the enclosed space. Yet, through the smoke, they could make out the form of the entrance door at the bottom of the stairs, a roaring patch of flame blocking their path. Not even Peter could make the jump over that, and considering the space they were in, he doubted Falcon would even be able to _open_ his wings, let alone fly them over.

Nevertheless, Peter watched as Falcon lifted up his wrist, quickly pressing a series of buttons on the screen before him. Before the teen could question what he was doing, he felt the man roughly grab his arm before hauling him back just as a pair of small missiles shot out of the man's shoulders, flying above their heads.

The missiles hit the ceiling above where the fire roared, a loud explosion rocking the small room as they hit their mark. Spider-Man winced at the loud _BOOM_ , watching as a pile of debris and tile fell from the ceiling before landing on the flames, extinguishing them for a brief moment with the huge mess of concrete and ceramic smothering it.

"Come on!" Before he could voice his shock, the Falcon was dragging him forward. After taking a second to find his footing, the teen was racing just behind the older man, slamming his shoulder into the door as he and the ex-Avenger stumbled in, falling to the floor for a brief moment to pause and take a breath.

Bad idea.

If they thought the stairwell was bad, then this room was ten times worse. The metal pipes and shiny surfaces all reflected the flaming orange lights in such a way that it looked like the entire room was just one big fire. The roaring flames seemed to cover every inch of the area, thick grey smoke hanging in the air above their faces. Off to the side, Peter noticed a sparking electrical circuit that seemed to have been ruptured from its safety tubing, igniting the nearby vats of flammable chemicals.

"Guess we found out where this fire started." He called, glancing at Falcon, who narrowed his eyes as the sparking circuit before coughing behind his hand. Doing a quick scan of the room, the kid noticed the separate system circuits and routers lined up against one of the back walls. Gesturing towards the older man at the levers, he received a nod of confirmation before they began their move.

Ducking past flames that seemed to tower above you would be difficult enough _without_ all the suffocating smoke filling your lungs and clouding your vision. But take that into consideration and the fun was simply _doubled_.

Nevertheless, the two heroes pushed through the smoke as they crashed against the back wall, panting heavily from exhaustion, the heat of the room making their heads feel as though they were full of cotton balls.

Cracking open his eyes, Peter shook the fog from his brain and caught sight of the mechanisms. Sitting against the back wall was a desk-like panel with an assortment of flashing buttons and warning lights flaring like firecrackers. Along the walls on either sides of the panel were two levers connected to the circuits and sprinkles above their heads.

As Spider-Man caught a look at the mechanism, he quickly began to understand why the man said the machine would only work with two people. After activating the panels, you needed to turn the levers at the same time. And taking into consideration the distance between the two, it would likely be impossible without two people.

Falcon glared down at the panels before casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the approaching flames. "Alright, so how the hell do we do this?" He asked, the hoarseness of his voice drawing attention to the fact that the smoke was not doing them any favors at the moment.

Spidey said nothing as he roughly pushed past the man, ignoring the huff of annoyance as he began to reroute the systems to focus on the water pressure of the sprinklers above his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the man gazing at him in mild curiosity at his skills with the mechanics. In all honesty, Peter didn't think it was really something to be impressed at. After all, he was cracking systems like this when he was still in middle school.

"Got it!" He called as he plugged in the last series of codes. "Get to that lever over there!" He shouted as the flames inched closer, the roar filling his ears like cars on a freeway. Falcon quickly made his way over, hissing as his arm brushed up against one of the super-heated pipes. Tightly gripping the lever, Peter cast the man a small glance. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something above the man's head.

With a small grunt, the teen shot his arm out as fast as he could, his webs grabbing a hold of the man's legs. Falcon yelped in shock as he was dragged down to the ground right as a huge portion of the ceiling cracked and gave out, showers of debris raining down around him, including a particularly heavy-looking piece of concrete that seemed to have been aiming for his head. Instead, it crashed down against the pack on his back as he floundered on the floor.

"Shit!" The man gasped as he ducked his head while the last few bits of debris rained down, small sparks cracking from his pack. He cast Peter a small, wide-eyed stare before the teen made a frantic gesture towards the lever. Coughing harshly against his hand, the man rushed back up to his feet and stepped around the newly formed pile of ash and concrete, grasping the lever tightly.

"NOW!"

Instantly, the sound of shifting gears filled Peter's ears as the levers were cranked down. A loud rumbling filled the air followed by a hissing noise that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room. After a second, a strong burst of water shot out of the sprinklers above their heads, cascades of water raining down around them.

The flames flickered and flashed in protest as they tried to fight against the onslaught, but as the water continued to pour, they eventually began to dwindle. As the suffocating heat of the room began to die out, Peter felt a burst of relief flood through him as he shocked out a gasp of relief, pressing his palms against his knees as he hunched over and tried to suck in a breath, but he was finding a great deal of difficulty in doing so.

For a moment, the teen forgot there was even anyone else in the room, at least until the sound of sirens reached his ears. "Fuck..." Whipping his head back up, Peter watched as Falcon disappeared back up the stairwell without another word.

The teen hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not he should aid the man. He glanced behind him at the levers, both now in the down-position as water continued to rain down around him. He narrowed his eyes and followed the man up the stairs.

Entering the first hallway, he caught sight of Falcon standing in the doorway, glancing uneasily at the front door farther down, flashing red and blue lights flaring behind the glass. "Can't let 'em..." the man trailed off, running a hand against his sweat-covered forehead.

Without a second thought, Peter latched onto the man's wrist, a loud shout meeting his ears. "Hey, what the-"

"Just shut up and follow me!" The teen hissed as he dragged the man down the hallway, sprinting as fast as he could against the slick tile floors, water pouring around them. Bursting out of the hallway's back door, the cold night air slammed into him forcefully, the kid resisting the urge to stop right there just to drag in the first clean breath of air he'd gotten in the past ten minutes.

Instead, he fired a web up towards the building they'd previously been atop, wrapping an arm around the Falcon's waist. Ignoring the man's indignant shouts, the teen blinked the hazy dots flickering across his vision at the clenching of his lungs as he webbed the pair into the air.

The sky wavered slightly as they quickly approached, Peter unceremoniously dropping Flacon on the roof alongside himself as he rolled along the concrete. His muscles screamed as he flopped to the floor, panting heavily as he tried to drag in as much clean air as possible. His lungs protested as he did so, harsh coughs tearing through his throat as he slowly began to shift.

Panting heavily, Peter shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees as he blinked the black dots currently swimming along the edges of his vision out of sight. He let out a pained groan as he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth, eyes snapping open as he heard the familiar _click_ of a gun sounding from in front of him.

LIfting his head back up, the teen noticed Falcon was now standing before him once again, a gun currently being trailed on him for the second time that night. _Damn, talk about deva-vu._ He muttered to himself as he narrowed his eyes and tossed a hand up in exasperation. "Oh, come on, man! Seriously? What the heck is your deal?! I literally _just_ saved your life and _this_ is the thanks I get?!" He growled.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, well don't think that changes anything, kid." He uttered. "We're still on opposite sides of the playing fields. So don't think for a _second_ that I _won't_ blow your brains out if you even _think_ of calling anybody over here." He threatened.

Peter stared at the gun before him, the man's words shocking him to his core. As he blinked, seemingly frozen, his hands began to slowly curl into fists as the tightness in his chest began to blossom into something else. He gritted his teeth in fury. No. Not this time. This time...he wasn't going to be pushed around. That was Peter Parker.

That _wasn't_ Spider-Man.

Narrowing his eyes in determination, the teen pushed himself to his feet, despite the warning Falcon shot back at him. "Hey! Did you not hear what I just said, freak?! I swear I'll kill you if you try anything!"

Spidey glared back at the man, eyes cold behind the mask as his lenses narrowed. "No. No, you won't."

Falcon seemed to balk at that, sputtering in shock for a moment before shaking the gun slightly. "What are you, _blind?_ Do you not _see_ the gun?!"

Spider-Man didn't back down. "Yeah...yeah, I see it. But I also see who's _holding_ the gun." He growled out, his voice firm. The man's face set into a firm frown as the teen continued. "I know who you are. You're the Falcon. You were one of the Avengers. You were a hero." His words were strong. they were facts. There was no doubting them.

He glanced towards the ground. "But lately people have been questioning that. _I've_ been questioning that. And you know what I just figured out?"

" _Do_ enlighten me." The man muttered.

"You didn't have to stick around. Sure, the fugitive terrorist people are trying to label you as would have. Heck, he probably would have been the one to set up the explosion in the first place just as a means to escape under the chaos. But you didn't." He turned back towards Falcon, taking a step closer to him. Closer to the gun.

He didn't waver.

"You chose to help me. An evil fugitive would have abandoned me. Abandoned _them._ But you didn't. Cause deep down, despite the battle in Berlin, despite the public outcry, despite you all going underground, despite all the _bullshit_ you've started since this whole mess began...you're _still_ an Avenger. You're still a hero."

He stepped closer. Falcon didn't back down. The gun didn't lower.

"And despite the fact that we were on opposing sides in Berlin, you _know_ I'm not a bad person. Mr. Stark wouldn't have gotten me involved if he thought otherwise. And despite what you may or may not think of him, you know he's right on that front."

The man's frown deepened.

"You know I'm a good guy. And I know for a _fact_ that no _Avenger_ would ever shoot down another hero in cold blood. No, that's something a fugitive would do" He spread his arms out. "But hey, if I'm wrong, if you're really what they're all saying, then it shouldn't be too hard for you to prove me wrong!"

He stepped closer.

"So go ahead..."

The tip of the gun rested against his chest as he inched closer.

"Shoot me."

Flacon leveled the teen a hard glare as he held the gun to his chest, staring the vigilante straight in the face. His eyes were cold as he held the teen's gaze behind the mask. His hand never once shook. the gun never once flinched. His body remained stiff and rigid as his finger hovered over the trigger.

With an angered sigh, the gun dropped down to his side as the man turned his head away, pacing the weapon back into his holster. Unbeknownst to him, Peter was finally allowing a breath to enter his lungs at the sign of surrender.

God, that had been _way_ too close.

The man uttered curses under his breath as he clipped the leather pocket back over the gun. "Who the hell are you anyway?" He muttered as he removed his goggles with a sigh, letting out a small grunt of pain as he plopped down and took a seat on the ledge of the roof. Without the mask blocking most of his face, Peter could see the smoot and grim that was smeared across his cheeks and the small trickle of blood that pooled from a scrape above his eye from when the debris had fallen.

The teen couldn't help but scoff at the question. "I'm the mascot for the tanning salon down the street and I'm really adamant about attracting new customers, especially ones who were just exposed to terrifying third degree burns." At the man's incredulous stare, the teen glancing down at the spider emblem on his chest. "Uhh..." He gestured towards it.

"Right, right...spider-dude."

"Spider-Man, actually."

Falcon reached behind him and tugged his pack off of his back, hissing under his breath as some of the sparks burned his hand. Placing it down on the ground in front of him, he undid one of the circuit panels and glared down at the frayed wires before lifting his head back up. "I read about you. You're that vigilante that hangs around here."

Peter shrugged as he took a seat on the ledge as well, his chest still painfully tight. "Actually, Mr. Falcon, sir, I prefer the term part-time superhero assistant."

The man glanced at him before he began to tangle his hands in the wires of his pack, a small huff falling from his lips. "It's Sam" He muttered as he glared down at his pack, the small vents letting out little puffs of smoke periodically. The man sighed before glancing back up at the teen. "I don't get it, man." He growled out. "You fought _against_ us. You were with Stark. He backed up the Accords, something that should _stop_ you from doing hero work like this unsupervised." He explained. "I mean, have you even _read_ those things, or did you just go into that battle all wily-nilly?" He scoffed with a glare.

Spidey returned with one of his own. "Last I checked, my endeavors don't end up with buildings collapsing and thousands of people dying." He uttered. "Plus, the closest I've ever gotten to going international with my affairs was last week when I stopped that guy from robbing the French bakery on 42nd street. You should try their chocolate eclairs."

Sam threw him a dark glare, seemingly unamused. "We were doing our jobs."

"Without taking any responsibility for it, I'd like to add." Peter snarked back, folding his arms over his chest.

The man rose back up to his feet. "What, and _you_ do?!" He snarled.

Spidey's fingers twitched as he fought to keep a sense of calm flooding through him. He didn't have the energy to pick another fight and he really didn't want to go wrestling around the roof with this guy for a second time that night. However, he wasn't about to back down now. Spider-Man didn't back down.

"Yeah...I do." He said in a steely tone of voice. "Why do you think I'm still here?" He growled before glancing over the edge of the roof ledge, Sam following his gaze. Down below, the people who had safely been evacuated from the building were either being treated by paramedics or being rushed into ambulances. "I don't leave until everyone is accounted for and treated." He muttered before glancing back towards the man.

"Same with every robbery I stop, every cat I pull from a tree, every family I help." He leaned closer, his lenses narrowing. "My job's not done until I'm 100% sure they're okay. Whether they need medical assistance, a helping hand or just someone to talk to while they try and move past the shock, I'm there." He growled, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the man before him. "Tell me, just what do you Avengers do besides expect other people to pay for _your_ responsibilities?"

The man's hands clenched by his sides as he glowered. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Peter rose up to his feet. "Don't I?! Tell me, just what have you been doing all this time you've been underground? Playing poker with Black Widow? Karaoke with Hawkeye? Certainly not owning up to your responsibilities. No! You leave that all on Mr. Stark, don't you? Yeah, cause God forbid, someone actually make the Avengers take a little responsibility for what they've done and who they've done it to!" He snarled.

Sam turned away with a scoff. "Please, Stark is just as guilty as the rest of us."

The teen took a steadying breath. "Maybe, but at least he's trying to make it right, which is more than I can say for all of you."

The man stared at the teen, saying nothing as his dark gaze bore into the teen, who began to feel his fingers twitch underneath the freezing stare. Finally after a long moment, Sam finally opened his mouth. "You think that will be enough?" He murmured. Peter opened his mouth, but the man continued anyway.

"You think all your hard work, all your good intentions will mean anything to them, to people like Ross, like _Stark."_ He spat the word out like it was physically burning him. Peter felt his hands clench at that. "People like them...they don't care about anything unless it somehow benefits them. And anything that _does_ usually ends up biting people like you and me in the ass." He explained with a wave of his hand.

The teen glared down at the man. "He wouldn't do that. Someone like Secretary Ross is too busy to concern himself with the likes of me. After all, he's got a rogue group of superheroes to track down."

That earned him a glare.

"The only way he'd have heard of me was through that battle in Berlin, but compared to everything else, I'm just small fish." The words sounded right in his head, but something in his chest felt off. Something that hadn't come from the smoke.

"Mr. Stark wouldn't expose me. It's...he knows it's a lot more complicated for me to do something like that." He tried to explain, though he was having a hard time understanding just _who_ it was he was trying to convince.

"You seriously think someone like Tony is going to back you up when it comes to Ross and his personal agendas or whatever? You think he's not gonna rat you out, expose you to that government douchebag?" He scoffed at the teen's silence. "Please! You _can't_ be that naive!" He chuckled bitterly. "Stark doesn't care about anyone other than himself, and he's willing to do a _lot_ to prove that."

"You're wrong."

"You're just another blip to him, kid!" Sam continued as he rose back up to his feet. The anger he'd first felt when he'd found out that Stark had gone back on his word to establish peace with Steve in Siberia burning just beneath his heart, fueling his hate-filled words.

In that moment, he didn't care who it was he was speaking to. He didn't care that this kid could rat him out any second if he said the wrong thing, if he got him angry. No, he was just pissed. And he didn't care who knew it, not even the kid who'd just saved his life. If anything, this vigilante needed to hear this. He needed to realize the truth. "He'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want, but the second you're no longer useful to him, he'll throw you away!"

"That's not true!" Peter snarled, hands shaking by his sides as his previous insecurities were voiced to him by someone he _knew_ had much more personal experience with his mentor than he did. Sam knew Tony a lot better than him. But...but he _couldn't_ be right! He couldn't! He _wasn't_

The pain in his chest returned full force, threatening to sweep him off his feet as the distant sound of police sirens and ambulance wails coming from below them rang in his ears. Somehow, the cold night air was becoming too hot. His suit was too tight. Everything was too _loud_ and _GOD_ did his chest hurt!

"T-T-That's...that's not true..." He murmured, his voice faltering slightly.

"Hate to break it to you, kid, but that man isn't what you think he is. He didn't care about us, and he certainly doesn't care about you. He _can't._ It's just not in his nature."

"Shut up!"

"It's only a matter of time before he throws you away too!" He snarled.

" **NO!** " Peter roared, leaping forward as he slammed his hands into the man's chest, Sam grunted in shock as he was forcefully shoved to the floor. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, only to pause when he saw that the vigilante hadn't continued his attack.

"You don't know what you're talking about! He won't do that! He won't! He promised me...he **_promised_**. He said he would help me and he PROMISED!" He screamed, hands shaking as he stared down at the man, chest heaving as he fought to steal another breath of air.

He knew what would happen if the Accords ever reached him. His identity would be thrown out the window. His father would learn everything. His heart clenched at the mere thought, the air leaving his lungs. No! He was wrong! Mr. Stark would never do that to him! He knew how dangerous it would be for him. He had to know that!

"He...He wouldn't rat me out. He won't. Cause unlike all of you, I'm still here! I'm still with him! You all left! He needed you and you LEFT! NO! I know what it means to be loyal! I know what it means to take responsibility for the things I do! And I **know** he would never sell me out! H-he won't. He wouldn't!" It was getting a lot harder to drag in air as he fought to stay on his feet. The air was so hot and everything was so loud and bright and...and...it was all too much.

Sam stared up at the teen in shock, eyes wide as he watched the vigilante sway slightly.

"He said...he said he'd help me.H-he won't hurt me. He won't! You... you don't know what you're talking about. He would never hurt me! Not him! Not...not him...h-he..." He trailed off suddenly as a wave of dizziness washed over him, threatening to knock him off his feet. A small groan fell from his lips as he felt his legs shaking under his weight.

He suddenly felt something beside him, garbled words ringing in his ears as he felt strong hands wrap around his shoulders. Instinctively, he lashed out, though his efforts were weak enough for the man to keep his grip on him, words echoing in his ears slowly, as if he were underwater.

" _Wh...asy...easy...old up...ing t...help..."_

Another small moan escaped him as his chest twinged tightly and his head flared painfully. Cracking open his eyes, he saw that Sam was now standing next to him, seemingly holding him up as he gently began to ease him to the floor. IF Peter didn't know any better, he might say the look in the man's eyes resembled concern. God, he really must have been out of it.

He had to stop doing this. This was the second time he'd exploded like that on somebody, the memory of this happening with Mr. Stark sliding back into his mind. He had not idea what brought it on, but he knew that it had _something_ to do with stress. His mind wouldn't let him realize that it also had something to do with when someone told him something he didn't want to hear, a truth he didn't want to believe.

He felt the cold concrete through the material of his suit, Sam maneuvering him so that his back rested up against the ledge of the roof. A grunt of pain forced its way past his teeth as he greedily sucked in a breath.

As he finally began to catch his breath, he could hear Sam speaking to him. "Hey...are you okay?" He asked, his voice tight.

Peter didn't respond for a moment, too afraid that if he tried, it would just send him into another coughing fit. Finally, after a few more seconds the teen cleared his throat and gave a small nod of his head, his lungs still aching at the smoke that had damaged them. He knew he'd been in the building for longer than Sam, he just hadn't realized _how_ long or how much smoke he'd actually inhaled despite the suits filtrators.

Peter gave a violent cough before giving another nod. "Y-yeah...yeah. I-I'm...okay."

Sam stared at the vigilante before him, the kid feeling the man's gaze pierce through him as he seemed to take in the sight before him. His face was hard as he stared the teen up and down. He couldn't deny that the vigilante's voice, the small, pathetic sound had reminded him of...of... Finally, after a moment, he opened his mouth, his brows furrowed. "...How old are you?" He asked, a hint of suspicion behind the words.

Spidey winced slightly as he stared at the ground, hoping the man hadn't caught his flinch. Judging by the way he curled his fists, he doubted he was so lucky. "Umm..." HE murmured, trying to figure out a way to avoid such a question.

Unfortunately, Sam seemed to deem the teen's stutter as answer enough. "Tell me you're an adult. Tell me you're over eighteen." Sam shouted more to himself than anybody else.

Peter clenched his fists and glared up at the man, seeming to find enough strength once again to speak. "Would you chill out for one second? Geez, I'm nineteen." He muttered, continuing at the an's questioning glare. "I'm just fighting my way through the last few stretches of an annoying cold. Now can you stop throwing insane accusations like a monkey, please?" He growled.

Sam glared down at him for another moment before letting out a tired sigh, grabbing a seat on the ledge once again. He stole a small glance over his shoulder at the cops still milling around the building. He knew he couldn't leave while there were so many of them around, so he'd have to make due talking to the annoying vigilante before him.

Speaking of, the man let out an indignant yell as the teen grabbed hold of his pack and brought it closer, inspecting the wires inside without even a word. "What the hell-" He started, only for Spidey to cut him off. "Do you know anything about fixing severed wires and circuit plates while not causing any more damage to this thing?" He asked.

Sam paused for a moment before letting out a huff, Peter taking that as a sign of submission as he began to work on repairing the pack.

The Avenger stared at the vigilante as he worked, taking in the sight of the hero. He was pretty short for a near twenty-year-old, which is probably what had given him the impression that maybe he was still in high school or something. He was also pretty lanky, but considering he was still sore from their fight from before, Sam knew better than to judge the teen based on his looks. It was obvious he was enhanced somehow. It reminded him a little of Steve.

"Where the hell did Stark find you anyway?" He asked, resting his cheek against his fist as he propped his elbow up on one knee.

Spider-Man glanced up at him before turning back to the pack. "It was a couple days before Berlin. He showed up at my house, said he knew who I was and that he needed me to help him stop...well, you guys." He explained, Sam giving a small scoff. "Anyway, he updated my suit and whisked me off." The teen paused for a moment. "I thought it was just a one-time thing, you know? I'd help out a little, do what I could, and then he would take the suit back and dump me right back where he found me."

The Avenger folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't he?" He asked with a deep frown, knowing hat sounded a _lot_ like what Stark would actually do. Which was why he was surprised when the teen continued.

"No...no he didn't. I mean, that's what I _thought_ he was gonna do and that's certainly what I was _expecting_...but he didn't." He stared down at the wires, his hands pausing in their movements. "I-I don't know why he's bothering with me. I don't know why he's keeping me around but..." He trailed off for a moment before he began to continue working on the pack. "But he is. And I'm grateful for that."

Sam stared at the teen before giving a small shake of his head. "I don't get it, kid. Why are you so hung up on this asshole? I mean, from what you're saying, he basically just used you to get what he wants." He muttered. He had to admit, it did surprise him a little that Stark was apparently taking interest in the kid, but he knew it couldn't last. It never did with Tony.

However, that didn't seem to be what Spider-Man thought as the kid gave him a small glare. "You know...I'm trying to be nice and keep this little conversation just between you and me. And if you want to keep things that way, I suggest you cool it with the insults, jerk-wad." He growled before ripping out another wire much harsher than he needed.

Sam stared at the teen before turning away. Maybe it _wasn't_ the best idea to piss this kid off anymore, especially considering he probably had Stark on his speed-dial or whatever. He rolled his eyes to cover up his insecurities before the teen began to speak once more. "Can I borrow that knife of yours?"

At the man's mistrusting glare, the kid rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's the final item in my master plan of luring you to this remote building, stealing your pack, _killing_ you and then stealing your sweet knife. I'm a genius, aren't I?" He deadpanned. The man scoffed and pulled his knife out once more, tossing it to the vigilante. Peter caught it and used the sharp tip to pry one of the pane away from the rest of the metal, digging through the newly exposed wires.

He sighed as he continued to twist the wires of the pack. "I'm used to being used by other people so that front doesn't really bother me when it comes to Mr. Stark. The only difference is h-he...he's..." He let out a small sigh. "He's the only one who's ever bothered to stick around." He muttered. Sam blinked and leaned forward slightly. "He...I don't know, he _listens_ to me. Somehow, he finds time in his unbelievably busy schedule to make room for a stupid kid like me. I don't know...I guess I just interest him. I'm sure it can't last but..." He gave a small smile beneath the mask. "But I'll enjoy it while it does."

Peter didn't say anything after that and Sam didn't push him to. The pair simply sat in silence as Peter continued to work on the man's wings, the sound of sirens blaring from the distance, an occasional flash of red and blue streaking past.

After a few more minutes, Spidey closed up the metal panel on the pack and turned back toward Sam. "There. That should hold up until you get back to wherever it is you've been holding yourself up." He stated as he rose up to his feet, handing the man his pack.

Sam took the pack with a small nod of his head. "Thanks..." He murmured quietly as he silently slipped the wings back onto his back. As he did so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Spider-Man was staring at him, not even trying to hide the fact.

"What?" He asked with a cocked brow as the teen continued to stare. Peter said nothing and for a moment, Sam wondered whether or not he would speak at all. After another second, he finally opened his mouth. "Why did you let them film you?"

"Huh?"

"Those people." Peter continued. "I've read your Wiki page." He uttered, ignoring the man's eye roll. "You used to be Para-rescue. Stealth is right up your alley. And those pictures weren't shot by professionals hiding in trees, disguising themselves as squirrels and whatnot. So that means you let them take those pictures on purpose. Why?"

Sam stared down at the teen for a minute before a small humored huff fell from his lips. "Not bad, kid." He uttered quietly as he gave a small smirk. "Misdirection, kid. If people think we know that _they_ know we're here, then it's unlikely they'll assume we're still here. They most likely will assume we got scared of capture and continued right along." He explained.

Peter hesitated before giving a small nod. "Hiding in plain sight."

"Exactly."

Spidey gave a small chuckle as the hero nodded, the man's gaze turning back to the sky as he scanned the area for the clear away. Peter stared after him, fingers twitching by his sides as he debated whether or not he should keep his mouth shut. Finally, after a few more moments of internal debate, the teen realized he couldn't keep silent any longer.

"He's not what you think he is."

The Avenger knew who he was talking about without him having to even say the name. He let out a small scoff and turned back towards him. "Trust me, kid. You don't wanna _know_ what I think he is." He muttered.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Look, I know things are kinda bad with you guys, you and all the other Avengers...but you're not the only victims here, you know." He growled out, folding his arms over his chest. "This has been hard on him too."

Sam glared back at him. "Oh, yeah? I don't see _him_ having to hole himself up in some abandoned warehouse just to make sure they don't throw you back into a cell." He snarled darkly, fists clenching.

Spidey returned the glare just as fiercely. "At least you're free."

The man continued to glare, although his expression became more one of confusion at that. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation. "Oh come on! You honestly don't think Mr. Stark doesn't have the capabilities to track you guys down?" He asked. "He had some of the most advanced tech in the world. You think he doesn't know how to trace you guys? You think he hasn't had the opportunity to turn you in already?"

"If you're trying to get me to warm up to him, I hate to say you kinda suck at it." Sam muttered.

"You're missing the point!" Peter cried. "If he has the capabilities to turn you in, why do you think he hasn't done it yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably cause he's waiting for the right opportunity to tell Ross that suits him best." He uttered, trying not to acknowledge that small spark of uncertainty that had entered his mind.

Peter seemed all too quick to pick up on it though." No...he hasn't done it because he doesn't want to see you all locked up like animals again." He explained quietly.

The man let out a small sigh as he turned away, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but the last time Stark saw us, he wasn't exactly too pleased. What makes you think he gives a crap about whether we live or die?"

He expected the teen to go off again, which only made him blink in surprise as the vigilante instead seemed to deflate slightly, his shoulders going slack as he glanced down at the ground. "You really don't know anything about family, do you...?"

Sam startled at that, blinking down at the kid in shock as he let out a small breath before giving a small chuckle, glancing up at the sky. "Yeah well, let's just say I've had some pretty weird experiences when it comes to my 'family'" He murmured.

"Trust me, I get it."

He turned back to the vigilante at the dejected tone of voice. Taking in the sight of the vigilante as he wrapped his arms around himself, Sam couldn't help but think the teen seemed... _smaller_. However, just as suddenly as the change had come, it was gone and Spider-Man, the annoying, loud-mouthed vigilante was back in front of him.

"He tries to hide it. I haven't been around long enough to really tell, but I know that losing your entire family isn't something people can take lightly, and Mr. Stark isn't an exception in this case." He explained. "So don't go pointing fingers all willy-nilly, alright? Cause at the end of the day, you all have something to feel guilty over." He murmured before glancing down at his hands, now seeming a bit unsure of himself before he continued.

"You know, growing up, you were one of my heroes." He sighed. "The other Avengers too. And...and you all still are." Sam said nothing as the teen spoke. "I know you're not the bad guys." He stared straight at the man. "But neither is Mr. Stark."

Sam stared at the teen, the wind whipping around them as distant sirens continued to wail. "So then who is?" He murmured. There was no malice in his voice, no hatred. Only a sense of defeat.

"Does there have to be a bad guy?" Peter asked.

Sam sighed. "There's _always_ a bad guy, kid."

Spider-Man said nothing, _could_ say nothing as he stared down at the ground. He let out a tired sigh before moving away. Sam stared at the vigilante as he went over to sit on the ledge, glancing down at the departing cops and paramedics. The man continued to stand, blinking down at his feet as the teen's words continued to ring in his ears.

He had to admit, the kid had a bit of a point. For the longest time, since Steve had broken him out of the Raft, he'd been...well he'd been pissed. So were the others. After everything that had happened, everything they'd been through, it was all just thrown away. And for what? Cause some billionaire asshole just suddenly decided he trusted the word of a bunch of government douchebags instead of his own teammates? His own fam-

He stopped himself from completing that thought. He knew it wasn't true. They weren't family. They never were, and this little shitstorm just proved it. Still...that didn't stop the man from wondering why he still had thoughts like that if it wasn't.

He glanced back up at Spider-Man, whose back was now to him as he continued to stare down at the dispersing cars. Safe to say, the kid was annoying as hell, and a bit of an asshole. _Guess Stark is already rubbing off on him._ He muttered to himself. Yet, he still couldn't help but feel a little bit of respect for the vigilante.

It was obvious he was a good kid at heart, his willingness to sacrifice his own safety for the wellbeing of those civilians was enough to prove that. Plus he was a pretty good fighter at that. Still, he was good enough to have Sam wondering why he was involving himself with someone like Stark, why he was concerning himself with an asshole like him.

_"He's not what you think he is."_

Sam let out a small sigh. In the few years he'd been an Avengers, he'd never truly become what one would call "close" with Tony Stark. After all, the dude was basically a grade-A douche. He was a rich, narcissistic playboy who seemed to only care about himself, and he was _not_ someone Sam would usually find himself associating with.

Still, after some time had passed, Sam could honestly say he'd begun to see the man as...as a friend. Sure he was still as annoying as ever, but hey, so was Clint. Sure, Tony was rude and sarcastic and never seemed to take anything seriously, but Sam could tell that was just a façade. He'd been dealing with traumatized military soldiers for long enough to tell when someone is putting up a front, faking a smile, lying through their teeth.

He knew Tony had had it rough. Hell, they all did. But he also knew that _they_ didn't have the press and paparazzi following their every move. They didn't know what it was like to grow up with cameras flashing and people yelling and judges criticizing your every move. They didn't know what it was like to _pretend_ just to survive.

_"This has been hard on him too."_

Sam lifted his arm and ran a hand across his face, now truly feeling just how exhausted he was. He glanced back over towards Spider-Man, a flash of hesitation sparking in his brain before he waved it away, letting out a small sigh.

Walking over, the man placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. Spidey shrugged him off immediately, but Sam didn't take offense as the teen turned towards him. "Listen, I need to warn you about something."

"If you're gonna try and convince me again that Mr. Stark's dangerous, then you can g-"

"No, that..." He paused with a loud sigh. "that's not what I was going to say. I mean, I'm trying to warn you about the reason why I'm here." He explained. The vigilante shut his mouth and turned fully around to face him. "We've been stationed out around here for the past few weeks." He started. "There's been hints of an underground organization that's been hijacking government trucks loaded to the brim with stolen alien tech."

"Alien tech? Where the heck are they getting alien tech?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "Damage Control is still trying to clean up the mess from when the Chitari invaded a few years back." He explained "Anyway, they've been stealing the tech and manufacturing it to make weapons." He explained.

Spidey nodded his head slowly. "Alright, alien weapons." He shook his head quickly before glancing back up. "I'm sorry but doesn't an underground gang making weapons seem a little, I don't know... _below_ your pay grade? Especially considering you guys kinda have to keep a cover?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Not when their buyers are suspected Hydra officers."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh..."

The man nodded. "Yeah, _oh."_ He turned away. "Anyway, we don't know if their buyers are _here_ , but we do know this is where the weapons are being made." He explained. "So...just keep a heads up for stuff like that, alright kid? And _definitely_ don't try and take out anyone you think might be _Hydra_ -affiliated, kay? You are definitely not equipped to handle people like that."

The teen folded his arms over his chest. "Hey! I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much." He muttered indignantly.

Sam couldn't help but give a small scoff at that. "I'm sure you can, kid. Just..." He paused for a moment. "...try not to get yourself killed, alright? I'm just...I'm just warning you so you'll be careful, m'kay?"

Peter couldn't help but smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that sounded like concern in your voice."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Smart-ass." He muttered as he began to walk over towards the edge, his wings flaring out from the sides of his pack. He barely caught the teen whispering " _Awesome"_ under his breath, but it was enough to have the man smirking.

Still, he wiped the look from his face as he turned back around. "You're not gonna tell Stark about this, are you? About... _me_ being here?"

The kid said nothing for a moment and for a second, Sam felt a flutter of concern pass through him, but it was dispelled as the vigilante finally looked up. "He already has enough to deal with right now. I don't need to worry him about this, too." He sighed before glaring back up at the man. "Just do me a favor. Don't become something that we _needs_ to worry about, alright?"

Sam stared down at the teen before letting out a small breath. "No promises, kid."

Spidey glanced down at the ground before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "Just as well. I wasn't about to trust any promises you made to me, anyway." He muttered.

The Avenger couldn't help but smirk at that. "Now you're learning, kid." He called as he leapt into the air, his wings instantly catching the wind as his propulsors took him soaring into the air. He refused to let himself look back at the teen, though he couldn't deny the fact that he was pretty sure the teen waved bye to him from the rooftop.

* * *

**Friday, March 25, 2016**

**Springfield Blvd - en route to Parker Residence**

**09:12 p.m.**

Peter landed with a small grunt on the roof of the building, exhaling loudly as he fought to get a steadying breath. Even though some time had passed, it was obvious his lungs were still pretty sore from the beating they'd taken from the smoke. He was still finding it hard to breathe properly.

The teen lifted himself up and removed his mask, a small sigh of relief falling from his lips at the cooling breeze that whisked past his face. Taking note of the ash and grime he could feel through the gloves of his suit, he was pretty certain he looked like he'd just finished cleaning out a chimney for an abandoned 19th-century mansion or something.

He glanced down at the mask. He knew it probably wasn't the smartest thing to swing around town without it on, but the thought of placing the suffocating piece of cloth back over his head, sealing himself off from the calming breeze...he shuddered slightly before stashing the mask into one of his pockets.

Whisking his arm back out, a thin line of webbing shot out, connecting to the top of the next building. Leaping off the edge, the familiar feeling of weightlessness entered his stomach as he swung through eh air, the wind blowing through his hair as he flew.

Shooting out another web, the teen began to continuous motion of swinging back and forth between hands. While he did so, he couldn't help but think back over Sam's words, over his warnings.

He hadn't seen anything that resembled _creepy, evil alien junk_ or whatever, but there was something that discouraged the notion that the man might be lying to him. Still, it seemed like something he would have noticed by now.

_Yeah, well you're usually off gallivanting with the Cons so it's not like you got much time to look, idiot._

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch at that. He knew the Cons were prone to stealing high-tech weapons like that when they weren't off creating their own. He knew it couldn't be much of a stretch to consider that maybe they were trying to buy some of that tech as well. It seemed... _illegal_ enough to catch their attention.

Still, Sam had mentioned something about Hydra...

Peter wasn't an idiot, that was for sure. They'd discussed the secret, underground terrorist organization plenty of times in school. It was the usual gist: origins, Nazi affiliation, secret branches, all that jazz. This was Avengers level stuff, especially considering the fact that not even six years ago, secret Hydra files had been leaked onto the internet. Of course, they'd been heavily encrypted and not much had been cracked before the files were wiped from the system. But it was enough to alert people that this group was still out there. Still plotting.

No...Peter _wasn't_ stupid, despite what his father might assume. He knew that Hydra was _way_ out of his league. He also knew that according to Sam, they were a part of this weapons trade somehow...

The teen lowered his gaze for a second as his body automatically continued to swing forward.

He knew his father was bad. He knew the Cons were bad. He knew what they were doing was _bad,_ granted his view of the complete picture was painfully blurry. But to assume that they had _anything_ to do with something like Hydra, the idea made Peter want to laugh.

No. Hydra was a professional, legit terrorist organization. His father and the Cons were just...crooks. Crooks and mad scientists with way too much money and equipment on their hands and a warped sense of morality _._

Peter gripped the next web tightly as he released his hold on the other, swinging forward as he continued to fly.

Maybe he should inform Mr. Stark about this. After all, if it had something to do with Hydra, then it was obvious the man needed to know. He was _much_ more equipped to deal with something like this than he was. Of course, Peter's explanation of the situation would lead to inevitable questions, specifically as to how he'd managed to _acquire_ said information.

He knew he shouldn't have felt guilty. Not at all. Sam Wilson was a criminal. He was a Rogue Avenger, NO! He was one of the Avengers that had hurt his mentor, if not physically, then emotionally. He shouldn't have had any hesitations.

But he did.

And he hated himself for it. But what else was new?

The teen let out a small sigh as he continued to leap from one web to the next, the wind continuing to cocoon him in a flurry of whooshing blows and blinding breezes. As he thought back to the billionaire, Peter couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the man found out about him talking to the Avenger, or better yet, what he would do if he came face to face with Sam.

He wanted to believe that the man would keep a level head, that he would be rational and calm enough to deal with the situation smartly, smoothly, exactly how he handled everything else: with confidence.

And yet, Peter couldn't help but remember the pain that had been etched onto the man's face up on that rooftop when he'd confessed to Peter, the betrayal in his tone of voice, the anger behind his clenched fists. And even if the man _could_ stay calm and keep his emotions in check, the Accords were still another standing obstacle.

The Accords...

Peter felt his stomach flip painfully as the documents circled through his mind. Peter wasn't blind. He knew what those documents entailed. He agreed with them. He knew that _responsibility_ was not something to be avoided, not something to idle from, to deny. He knew firsthand. Still, it was impossible to ignore the concerns he had for said documents, especially in regards of what they entitled for him.

_("You seriously think someone like Tony is going to back you up when it comes to Ross and his personal agendas or whatever? You think he's not gonna rat you out, expose you to that government douchebag?")_

Mr. Stark could turn him over. The possibility was there, a neon sign that flared before his eyes in a blinding flash of warning lights that told him to _stay away_ , to get out and listen to his instincts. The present threat was real, that much he knew.

Tony Stark was a threat.

And yet...even though their time together had been short and few, Peter couldn't help the feelings beginning to bloom in his chest. He didn't know what they were, what they meant, but they left him feeling not so numb inside. They were warm, a comforting burn that made him want to let his guard down.

He'd felt it earlier, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and _especially_ when Mr. Stark had shown up. It was hard to ignore, like the neon sign. But this wasn't as intrusive, wasn't as painful to look at.

Peter wasn't one to opening himself up to strangers. The thought of being left alone with people he didn't know made an uncomfortable itch crawl up his spine, a chill that made his frame shiver and an illogical need to curl up and hide burst in his head. But with Mr. Stark, hell, even with the man's friends, the itch wasn't as prominent. It was there. It was _always_ there. But it wasn't a clawing dread that sank in his stomach, more of a background noise, a soft hissing that he could only really make out if he strained his ears and listened for it.

He couldn't help but get excited whenever he thought of Mr. Stark. Hell, just earlier that evening, he'd practically bounced out of his seat when the man had entered the _frikkin_ room.

He knew it probably wasn't the most tolerable thing. If anything, the billionaire probably found it annoying, but he just couldn't help himself. For some reason, he found himself unexplainably excited, strangely... _happy_ whenever he was with the man. And he had no idea what for! He just _was._

Such a thing should have scared him.

He wasn't used to not knowing. He didn't _like_ not knowing. But for some reason, with Mr. Stark, it seemed... _okay._ Maybe it was the carefree tone he always used. Maybe it was the cocky smile and lackadaisical attitude. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that he seemed... _not_ angry when Peter opened his mouth and began to babble on about the dumbest things. It was like the man didn't care when the teen looked him in the eyes.

He didn't care when Peter was...well, _Peter_.

The teen lowered his gaze as he fiddled with his fingers, hesitant to continue moving, to continue his trek home. As he continued to mull over the thoughts swirling around his head, he slowly began to piece the fragmented bits and pieces together. And as he did so, the slow conclusion he was beginning to move towards made his heart hammer.

He was starting to understand, if only a little bit, why he seemed so comfortable with Tony Stark.

He seemed trusting.

And that scared Peter more than anything.

That was Rule #1. That was the one rule you could _never, ever_ break. Not fully, at least. There were a few things that could slide: getting close with Ned, revealing his identity to Mr. Stark (well he kinda had no choice in that), accepting the man's internship offer. Those things...those things he could get away with.

But then there were the things he absolutely could never _ever_ reveal.

He stole a small glance towards his house before a small sigh fell from his lips. There was only a small handful of people who knew what life was like for the teen at home, including Ned, who only truly knew because he'd been with the teen since middle school. Ned wasn't stupid. Peter had shown up with enough bruises and broken bones for him to figure it out.

Still, Rule #1 burned brightly in Peter's head, carved in like a marker. Bold. Permanent. It was the reason he never openly told his best friend. He never spoke about home if he could avoid it, and for the most part, Ned respected such things and they left it at that.

Safe to say, Mr. Stark would not leave it at that. On the off chance that such affairs even _mattered_ to the billionaire, Peter couldn't risk the chance of him going to try and do something about it, or _worse,_ going to the police.

Peter felt his heart begin hammering and his mind splinter painfully as a thrumming headache blared behind his eyes, the mere thought nearly sending him into a panic. No. He couldn't have that. He just couldn't.

As much as he enjoyed being around the billionaire, he knew that he could never, _ever_ trust him with this.

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the action a few more times as he fought to tame the throbbing pain blaring in his head. After a moment, he was finally able to push it back. Running a hand through his hair, the teen let out a small sigh and leapt up to the building edge, firing another web as he began to swing closer.

Despite that crushing truth ringing in his ears, he knew that it couldn't stop him from enjoying the billionaire's company, if only for a little while, in the time they had together before Mr. Stark finally got sick of him. Landing on the roof of his own house, the kid couldn't help but chuckle at one of the billions of jokes the man had snarked earlier that night.

With only a moment of hesitation barring his actions, Peter reached behind him and pulled his mask back out, staring down at the large reflecting lenses as he ran his thumb over the material, a small smile forming on his lips.

_("It's alright, Peter. I promise it is.")_

Mr. Stark had made this suit for him. _Just_ for him. He'd decked it out in a blaze of awesome gadgets and cool sensors, most of which saved him from some pretty painful injuries that he was sure would fall upon him had he not had the suit. Safety features the billionaire had installed as to make sure the teen didn't get hurt.

_("Look, kid, like it or not, we're in this together now.")_

Such things made the fantastical thought that maybe the man truly did care for him breeze through his mind like a lovely dream. Such things had that dream seeming more and more like a reality, if only a little bit.

(" _Yeah...silver linings.")_

Peter took in a deep breath as another breeze flew past him, the cool air helping in clearing and loosening up his lungs, the air freely flowing through them now. The teen lifted his head and glanced in the direction of where he'd met up with Sam.

_("Hate to break it to you, kid, but that man isn't what you think he is. He didn't care about us, and he certainly doesn't care about you. He can't. It's just not in his nature.")_

The kid gave a small smirk. "Guess you're right, Sam...He _isn't_ what I thought he was." He shoved the mask back into his pocket. "He's better."

If what Mr. Stark said was true, if those private moments had meant anything, then Peter had to _believe_ that the man would have his back when it came to the Accords. He would have to have faith.

Peter pushed down the fear that such an idea created.

Letting out a small breath of preparation, the teen glanced down over the edge of his building and noticed that there were no cars in the driveway. A sigh of relief bubbled past his lips at the realization that he wouldn't have to dodge the Cons for at least another night. Crawling down the side of the building, his feet created a small _thump_ as he landed on his balcony.

Sliding the glass doors open, Peter entered the room and threw the mask onto his desk, flipping over his bed as he landed on his desk chair, shooting a web towards the now open door to slide it close once again. Reclining back in the chair, the teen pressed his fingers against his eyes as he let out a tired groan, his muscles aching as he finally took a second to relax, with no new surprises jumping out at him.

A small _squeak_ from the others side of the room had him cursing his big mouth as he startled in his seat, whipping his head up as fast as he could. There, sitting on the couch in front of his TV was Ned, the teen staring at him with wide, unbelieving eyes as he held the pieces to an unfinished Lego structure, his mouth hanging open.

Peter instantly shot to his feet, Ned doing the same thing as both boys pointed incredulously at each other, unintelligible moans of disbelief falling from their mouths at the same time.

"Duhhh..."

"Y-Youu..."

"Nuh-uhh..."

"Yeah-huh..."

Peter felt his heart jump up to his throat as he stared at his best friend. "N-Ned, what are you _doing_ here?!" He practically screeched.

"You said your dad wasn't home tonight so you invited me over!"

"I did?!"

"Yeah!"

"...Oh..."

The teen placed a hand to his head as he fought to reign in his breathing. "That's...I...I don't..." He murmured as he tried to suck in another breath of air, his lungs growing suspiciously tight.

Ned, however, seemed oblivious to his friend's plight as he practically bounced up and down. "This is...I mean... you're _SPIDER-MAN!"_ He shouted. "My best friend is _Spider-Man!"_

Peter gave a small shake of his head as he tried to speak. "Tha- I...I'm not..."

Ned scoffed. "Don't even _try_ and sell to me that you aren't! You just crawled along the windows, did a flip across the room and webbed the door with those cool shooty things and can I see those actually cause I-"

"Ned!" Peter finally shouted, hands shaking and voice rising in pitch. "Listen to me, I-"

"Oh my god. Oh MY GOD! I know Spider-Man. I _actually_ know Spider-Man! Ha! This...this is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me! I don't...I mean...can you frikkin believe it? Well I mean, I'm sure you can cause you know...you're...you know..you're _you_!" The teen was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes going even wider if such a thing was even possible. "Oh gosh! Just wait till the people at school hear about this! We are going _straight_ up the social ladder, dude, and-"

"NO!" Peter screeched, heart exploding at the prospect of what Ned was implying. "You can't...I just... I...can't tell..."

Peter couldn't believe it. Everything was ruined. His secret was out. They would find out. Everyone would find out. His father would find out. It was all over for him. They'd lock him up forever, leave him to rot or beat him till his bones were splinters. Maybe _that's_ why he couldn't breathe anymore.

Ned finally seemed to notice his friend's distress as Peter stumbled back against his desk, wheezing harshly as he shook. Quickly rushing over, Ned reached out to put an arm around his friend, only for Peter to lash out and slap it away with a gasp of panic, eyes blown wide and face ghost-white. "Whoa, whoa...okay. I...it's okay." He murmured as he held up his hands for the teen to see.

Peter stared at the offending limbs for a moment before he grasped his head in his hands, struggling to draw in some air as he slowly dropped to the floor, legs buckling under him as he hit the carpet with a soft _thud._

"Alright, o-okay...calm down, Peter. It's okay. Everything's gonna be fine." Ned said softly, slowly lowering himself down as well while keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Peter was vaguely aware of the boy's presence as he fought to get his breathing under control. His ears were ringing, a loud deafening noise that made him grit his teeth and curl his fingers in his hair. He shut his eyes, counting the seconds each breath entered his lungs.

Finding enough of his voice to speak once again, Peter latched his hand around Ned's arm, the teen's eyes widening at his friend's strong grip. "Ned, l-listen to me...you...you cannot t-tell _anyone_ about this...alright?" he asked, his eyes practically dripping desperation. "If...if my father finds out about this...I...I-I..."

"Dude, slow down for a second! Who do you think I am?" Ned asked, a small hint of hurt showing through in his voice as he stared back at his friend. "I would never rat you out to your father." He murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as he thought back to the man. "And...and I...I _won't_ tell anyone at school either. Not if you don't want me to."

Peter stared back at the teen's face, drinking in every inch, every detail before he deemed him to be telling the truth, letting out a loud groan as he pressed his palms into his face and rested his head against the back of the wall.

Ned stared at him for a moment, unsure as to how to proceed. For a while, the pair simply sat in silence, the distant sound of cars and sirens drifting in from outside. Finally, Ned decided to speak. "When did this happen... _h_ - _how_ did this happen?"

Peter didn't look over at him as he stared down at his hands. The familiar hesitations burned his throat in a sticky trap. He'd only ever told _one_ other person about all of this, and even then, the guy was never around, nor was he a very real threat. But Ned...Ned was real, had the potential to become a _very_ real threat.

Still, as he lifted his eyes away from his hands and drifted them over to his friend's face, he could see no malice, no ill-intentions. All he saw was Ned, his best friend since sixth grade, the same kid he had sleepovers with whenever he could get away, the same kid who got him excited over Star Wars and comic books and movies and TV and everything his father would have never even bothered to expose him to.

This was the kid who filled Peter's head with something _other_ than fear.

He licked his lips, glanced away again. Besides, there really wasn't much point in lying. Ned _had_ just seen him crawling on the ceiling.

"I was eight. Got bitten by a radioactive spider down in my dad's lab." His voice was quiet, apprehansive. He spared a wary glance over to Ned, who was staring at him with a blank look on his face.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Dude! that's like... _comic-book_ levels of awesome!" He beamed as a grin cracked over his face, excitement seeming to ooze from his very words. Peter finally let a small smile grace his lips.

"So, is this why Tony Stark gave you that internship? Cause he knows about you being Spider-Man?" The teen asked, Peter giving another nod, which had Ned nearly toppling over. "I can't frikkin believe this. You have the _coolest_ life in the entire world!" He shouted, pausing as Peter gave him a deadpan look. "Uhh, well sorta..."

Ned let out a small laugh as he stood up, the excitement becoming too much for him to sit still any longer. "This is the most amazing thing ever, man...I mean...you're a superhero! A real-life superhero! And-" He paused, eyes going wide. "Are you an Avenger now?"

Peter let out a small scoff. "I don't think I'm quite there yet, Ned." His face grew thoughtful as he glanced towards the ceiling. "But I _did_ happen to run into one of the Rogue Avengers tonight so.." He murmured, smirking slightly as he tossed the bait out.

Predictably, Ned practically fell into his lap as he leaned closer. "You...I'm sorry, you did _WHAT NOW?!"_

Peter let out a small laugh and pushed his friend away, the teen going back to sit next to him. "I'll explain it all later. It's...it's kind of a long story." He murmured. Ned opened his mouth to keep talking but paused when his eyes landed on the ash dusting Peter's face, a visible cut slashed across the teen's forehead that was already beginning to fade.

Instantly, the joyous fire that had been burning inside the boy diminished as he glanced back down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. "And you do this every night? You...you go out and...and fight crime?"

Peter glanced over at him, confused as to the new unsure tone in his friend's voice. He gave a small nod. "Yeah, why?"

The other boy stared back at him, face twisted in concern." Is - isn't that...dangerous?" He murmured, wringing his hands slightly as he stared back at Peter. The teen let out a small breath and shrugged. "In case you haven't noticed, I was kinda already used to that before I even _started_ doing this." He murmured with a small smirk.

Ned didn't seem to share his amusement. "I'm being serious, Peter! This, I mean...I always hear on the news how Spider-Man is saving people from fires and stopping bank robberies and catching muggers and...and all that crap sounds _super_ dangerous and I mean..." He trailed off, glancing back down at the floor. "I just, I'd hate to see you get hurt."

Peter stared back at the teen, that same strange feeling he'd been thinking about before returning in his chest. That same feeling he'd gotten with Mr. Stark, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. After a moment, he let a small smile fall onto his face. Maybe he couldn't be certain of what the others thought of him, but he knew for a fact what Ned thought, the teen's words only solidifying his resolve. There was a reason he was his best friend.

Lifting his arm, the teen placed his hand against Ned's shoulder, the teen glancing back up at him. "Look...I know this is all super weird and totally unbelievable.." He gestured wildly while speaking. "But I _do_ happen to know what I'm doing. I've got _crazy_ powers, man! I can catch a bus with my bare hands, I can crawl along the walls and the ceiling, I can take out five armed guys with practically nothing but a can of high-tech silly string attached to my wrist without even breaking a sweat!" He scoffed. "Plus, I have Mr. Stark watching my back now, too." He explained, Ned's face slowly relaxing as he continued. "It's not like I'm alone in this. For the most part, I have him for help."

Ned grew silent for a moment and Peter leaned closer, hoping his words had done something to soothe the teen's worries. the last thing he needed was Ned going off and telling someone about his secret simply because he believed he had to do it to keep his friend safe. However, he blinked in shock as Ned stared back up at him, smirking widely. "Well, now you have me, too."

Peter stared back at him for a moment, mouth going dry as he swallowed. For a moment, all he could do was blink back at his friend. Finally, after a second, the teen felt a smile form on his face as he chuckled. "Yeah...guess I do."

Both boys glanced down as Ned's watch beeped. "Crap..." The kid muttered as he rose up to his feet, Peter doing the same. "I have to get going or I'm not gonna make it back home before curfew." He sighed.

Quickly lifting his arm, the teen pointed a stern finger Peter's direction, said boy raising up his hands in surrender. "And don't think we're done with this. I'm texting you with any and all questions I have on this and trust me, there are a _lot."_ He exclaimed.

Peter laughed. "Okay, okay. Just make sure to text it on the E.X. Chat, m'kay?" He said. With how nosy the Cons could sometimes be, it had become sort of like a mandatory thing for him to create a secret text group on his phone that only he could access. Considering the topic up for discussion, it went without saying that they would have to use the private chat.

"Pshh...of course. What do you take me for?" Ned responded, though he could tell from the look Peter gave him that it was not something to take lightly. "Plus, don't expect me to hold back when I see you at school, either."

"Seriously, dude? School? Isn't that a little risky?"

"Hey! I reserve the right to be curious about this! My friend is literally an example of a Ripley's Believe It or Not exhibit."

Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless as the two boys made their way over towards the door. Ned turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, turning back as he held out his hand for their signature handshake.

Peter stared down at the outstretched hand, but decided against it. In a display of relief that he didn't realize he'd been holding in - something the teen would come to question later on that night - he leaned forward, wrapping his friend in a hug. Ned was obviously taken aback my it but was quick to return it in a display of strength that perhaps might have even rivaled Spider-Man. Damn, did that kid have a grip!

Though, he supposed he had good reason. After all, Peter was _never_ one to divulge in personal contact like this. At most, Ned could get a high-five out of him, perhaps a comforting shoulder pat. It was rare that the large boy could ever actually hug him. But now it was _Peter_ hugging _him,_ and not the other way around!

Safe to say, both boys realized just how momentous the seemingly small gesture was, so much.

Neither boy wanted to be the first to pull away.

* * *

**Friday - March 25, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Labs 01**

**09:45 p.m.**

_"Eyewitness accounts place the time of the explosion at approximately 8:15 tonight. The Fire supposedly erupted from one of the main lower labs, quickly spreading to the rest of the building."_

_"Nearly two dozen employees were still inside the building when the fire began, but miraculously, they all emerged with minor injuries and slight burns. Who they have to thank for these harrowing saves is none other than local neighborhood hero, Spider-Man, which we have numerous statements placing him at the scene, where he went on to pull out nearly fifteen employees to safety."_

_"While it is unclear as to the full damage done to the East Town Engineering/Chemical Manufacturing Building or the ETECM for short, it's safe to say that these employees won't be forgetting about the fact that there is always someone watching out for them, for all of us. This is Jamie Holmes bringing you live feed. Back to you Todd."_

"Mute."

Instantly, the voices filtering in through the screen were silenced as Tony glanced back down at the work desk he currently sat in front of. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek before tapping the handle of the screwdriver in his hand against the metal table. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." He murmured with a small sigh. He glanced up at the bottle of half-empty scotch on the table. Reaching over once again, the man poured the amber-colored liquid into the small glass beside it and took a quick swig before setting the glass down once again.

Twisting the tool back around, he once again began to fiddle with the metal paneling on one of his suit plates. He'd have to remember to ask Peter about this little event the next time he saw him, make sure he came out of it unscathed. He knew he likely had, considering the teen wasn't banging at the tower window asking for assistance, as Tony had instructed him to do.

Of course, the thought didn't escape his mind that the kid had just decided to _ignore_ what Tony had told him, but he decided to try and give the teen the benefit of the doubt for the time being, or at least until he had reason not to.

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head. It wasn't like he was worried or anything. No, of course not! He...he just remembered that the filtration system on the suit could be a little finicky sometimes. He just wanted to make sure such things were working properly is all.

He was so engrossed in his _not_ caring that he didn't even notice the sound of approaching footsteps, of course, it didn't help when the stranger was trying to _mask_ said footsteps. Nonetheless, Tony jumped slightly as a new voice entered the room.

"Keeping tabs on your latest invention, huh Stark?"

He knew who it was before he even spun around.

His grip on the screwdriver tightened as he lowered his head, his shoulders tensing as he shut his eyes tightly, teeth grinding as he fought to keep his breathing under control. "FRIDAY?" He murmured softly, not even bothering to turn around, to look up.

" _I'm sorry, Boss. She hacked into my system and disabled the alarm protocols."_

He couldn't help the humorless scoff that fell from his lips as he opened his eyes and shook his head. "To be honest, I really shouldn't be surprised." He muttered as he turned around in his chair, coming face to face with Natasha, piercing green eyes staring straight back at him. "You never really have been one for asking permission."

She quirked a brow. "What, and you have?" She snarked back with a signature smirk on her lips.

Tony narrowed his eyes, face twitching as he stared back at the woman. She was wearing a light teal shirt with a short black jacket overtop, matching the dark grey jeans and black combat boots below. The light blue of the shirt made her bright red hair stand out even more, which was most likely what the hood was for. She reached up and pulled it off, the material falling limp behind her head.

He gave a small sneer. "I'm surprised I could even tell it was you. Knowing all your tendencies I was expecting a blonde."

Natasha gave a small shrug. "Can't really pull it off." She murmured before her eyes glanced back over towards the muted TV playing above their heads. Tony followed her gaze and narrowed his eyes at the continuous news report of Spider-Man playing on the screen, his stomach churning angrily as he watched the woman stare at the screen like a lioness stalking her prey. He clenched his fists.

"You know, I only got a few glimpses of him in Berlin, but I've seen plenty of news footage of him." She explained as she walked further into the lab, Tony never taking his eyes off of her as he gripped the screwdriver tighter, heart thumping loudly against his chest. "He's not bad." She murmured, smirk widening.

Tony felt his muscles tighten and his stomach recoil at such words. From anyone else, they would not invoke such a startling reaction, but Tony knew Natasha. He knew what she meant by those words. And he was _not_ having it.

"Yeah, well...he's good alright. He's good enough to not deserve getting involved with the likes of you, so you stay the hell away from him alright?" He growled up from his chair as he began to stalk over to the woman, Natasha keeping her face neutral and her breathing level.

"I don't want you dragging him into all your bullshit." He spat, eyes narrowing as they filled with something Natasha had never seen in them before, and whether she would ever admit it or not, the man's next words succeeded in sending a chill down her spine. "And if you even _think_ of hurting him or of sending one of your other goons after him..."

He leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous. "I swear I'll kill you."

The woman took a deep breath, never even flinching against the man's piercing glare. "I get the picture." She murmured. "You have my word, Tony."

The billionaire scoffed as he turned back around. "Please. Your word means jack-shit to me." He growled out as he took a seat by the table once again, picking up one of the loose pieces of metal off of the steel surface. He tossed it in the air before catching it once again, turning to glance back at her. "What are you doing here, Romanoff? Got tired of playing Hide and Seek with the national government?" He sneered before chuckling the piece of metal in his hand far across the room, where it landed somewhere out of sight with a loud clatter. He reached over and took another long drink from the glass before pouring himself another.

Natasha's eyes stayed locked on where the loud noise had originated before turning back towards Tony, walking closer as she placed a hand on the table. "I came to check up on you" She explained, eyes catching the bottle on the table.

Tony said nothing for a moment as his fingers twitched. "Check up on, or scope the perimeter? Whatever spy lingo is for...well, _spying._ " He muttered before swiping his hand across the table, knocking her hand off as well as she took a step back. "Cause if you think for one second I'm gonna buy that _bullshit_ , then you obviously must be losing your edge." He growled.

"Tony-" She tried to murmur, only for the man to cut her off.

"Do the others know you're here?" He uttered, cocking a brow as he glared back at her. She said nothing for a minute, which was all the answer he needed.

"They do."

"Hmm, I'm sure they weren't all that happy with it, were they?" He jeered.

Natasha narrowed her eyes as she blinked back at the man. "They don't want the risk of me blowing cover."

"Geez, and I thought you were good at lying through your teeth."

" _Tony-"_

"And...uh...what does Mr. Upstanding Citizen think of your little charity outreach program?" He asked in a similar mocking tone, though it did little to hide the anger that fell onto his face at just mentioning the man. Natasha seemed quick to pick up on it as well.

"He's the one that suggested it." She finally decided on. Tony sat at the table, one fist resting against his mouth as his elbow lay propped up on the table, his leg bouncing repeatedly up and down. He let out a small scoff as he pulled away, his right hand coming to tightly grip his left wrist as a soft jolt of discomfort traveled through the limb, something that had been happening more and more. "Yeah, right..." He muttered.

Natasha moved closer, eyes seeming to become more earnest as she did so. "I'm telling the truth, Tony. He..." She paused, unsure as to whether or not she should continue. Her eyes caught on to Tony's hands, to his tight grip on his wrist. She remembered when the limb had been wrapped in a cast so lingering pain shouldn't have been uncommon. However, she also knew that such feelings should have left _weeks_ ago.

She watched the man take in a few calming breaths as he continued to rub at the wrist, his hand shaking slightly as he did so. She quickly came to realize that it was not something he did out of pain. And if she were being completely honest, she had hoped it was. For the alternative was so much worse.

She took another deep breath before continuing. "He knows what he did was wrong and he was worried about you. He still is." She murmured.

The words were barely even out of his mouth before Tony was back on his feet, leaping towards her as his eyes filled with fury, the chair toppling over with a horrendously loud _CLANG!_ "Well, you can tell him to blow it out his ass, alright!" He snarled. "Cause how fucking _dare_ he try and play the righteous card here when he doesn't even have the balls to come and say sorry to my _goddamn_ face?!" He practically roared, fists shaking by his side as his chest heaved to take in another breath. "No, _**fuck**_ Rogers! Fuck his bullshit apology! No amount of false faces and fake words of recompense are ever going to fix this!" He snarled as he took another threatening step forward.

As he loomed closer, Natasha couldn't stop herself from reaching towards her hip, exposing the gun hidden beneath her clothes just enough as her fingers hovered over the weapon. Tony's blazing eyes caught this and landed on the gun. Instantly the fire began to dwindle as he stared back between her and the gun. A flicker of hurt crossed over his face, something Natasha caught instantly, for she quickly lowered her hand once gain. But it was too late.

The man sniffed and narrowed his eyes as he turned away. "You can go ahead and tell him that." He muttered as he stooped down to pick up his chair once again, taking a seat in it as his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Instantly, Natasha could see just how pathetic the man seemed, just how depressed. His hair was a mess, different strands sticking up all over the place. His clothes were wrinkled and stained with oil and his face held one too many wrinkles to count, numerous bags hanging underneath his dead eyes.

They were right to have been worried.

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew it would go down like this. He _fucking_ knew it. This was the whole reason he had avoided talking about stuff like this. This was why he refused to talk to Ross. This was why he dreaded even the very thought of talking to any of his old teammates. Cause as soon as he did, all the hurt, all the anger, all the pain, it would come bubbling back up to the surface and he wouldn't be able to hold it back. It would be Siberia all over again.

His words to Peter began to echo in his ears, making him grip the edges of the table even harder. _"I...this entire mess...in a sense, we all had a hand in it. None of us were innocent. We were all responsible. S-so don't go writing Cap as off as the bad guy, kid. Cause...cause I'm just as bad as him...maybe worse."_

He knew it made sense. He knew they were all to blame. He knew it wasn't just Cap's fault, it was his as well. But it didn't stop him from hating the man with every fiber of his being. Steve might not have been the bad guy, but he definitely wasn't the hero. Certainly not Tony's at least.

He reached over and took another swig from his drink, emptying the glass. He poured himself another.

The man let out a tired sigh as he stared down at the table. "And what about you? I'm sure he had to bribe you with _something_ to get you over here." He muttered as he tossed his hand up, waving it dismissively in the air.

Natasha let a small smile fall onto her face as she dared to move closer once again, preparing herself for another bout of anger. "Actually, I'm the one that offered to go." He explained as she grabbed one of the nearby chairs and pulled it up next to Tony's, sitting down when the man didn't dispute it. "He's not the only one who's worried about you, Tony."

He didn't believe it. He didn't believe it...because he wanted _too much_ for it to be true.

"Bite me." He growled, throwing her a glare.

"I didn't come here to fight." The woman responded, refusing to get riled up like the man wanted her to. She wouldn't play his game. Not when there was so much on the line here. Not when she knew what he was feeling underneath all that anger.

"No, of course not." The billionaire sneered. "You're just the delivery girl for late, soggy, flavorless apologies." He glanced down at his watch. "Well, you weren't here in 45 days or less so does that mean it's free?"

Natasha said nothing. For once, she didn't know what she _could_ say. To say they'd screwed this up would be the understatement of the year. If she thought they played things wrong before, then they were basically disqualified from _this_ game, considering how bad things had gotten.

She stared back at the man, jaw tensing as she thought. From the first day they'd met, Natasha knew that things would not be easy. After all _Tony_ wasn't what one would call " _easy"._ For a time, she'd been right on the money, and for a little while after that, she feared things would always stay that way.

Well, she'd never been happier to be proven wrong. Oh, sure, she and Tony weren't weaving each other friendship bracelets or junk like that, but they'd become close, just as any of the other Avengers had. She could honestly say she had cared for the man. She still did. And whether this little war meant anything, whether they were on opposing sides for the rest of their lives, nothing would stop her from considering the man one of her closest friends.

And if there was one thing you had to know about Natasha Romanoff, it was that she valued her friends more than anything in life. More than the mission. More than the kill. More than _anything._

"Listen, Tony." She murmured softly, the man refusing to look her way. "I'm sorry things turned out this way. I never wanted it like this. None of us did." She sighed. "I-I was only doing what I thought was right. That's all any of us _could_ do." She uttered as she pressed one fist against her cheek. "And as it turns out, this went to shit pretty quickly."

Tony scoffed at that. The woman paused before lowering her gaze, sitting up straight once again. "But it happened. It's here, and we can't change that now." She uttered softly. "All we can do now is decide how to move on."

She hesitated for a moment before placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. The man's fists clenched, but he didn't pull away as Natasha had been expecting. "I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. And neither did Steve. But I'm sorry that we did." She said in a tone of voice that was more sincere than Tony had ever heard it be before. He still didn't look at her. "I know it will take a while. I know it'll be hard. But..." She paused. "But I hope with time...you'll be able to forgive me."

She had never meant anything more in her life.

Tony finally couldn't help but steal a small glance her way, his eyes heavy and unreadable before he turned away once again. He said nothing as he swigged another drink.

Natasha stared at the man for a moment longer before turning away to stare back down at the table. She noticed another empty glass sitting next to the bottle of scotch and reached over, pouring herself a small drink as well. Tony glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but still said nothing.

She poured some of the gold liquid back into her mouth, the familiar burn warming her throat. She set the glass back down onto the table and stared down at the papers laid out before it. Blinking a few times as she reread the prints, she turned back towards Tony with a questioning glance. "Plans for the Arc Reactor?" She murmured. "I didn't think you even thought about that thing anymore? What are you doing with these?"

For a moment, the woman worried the man was shutting her out completely when he opted not to answer once again. But after a few moments, the man took another sip from his glass and set it back down on the table. "It's not for me. It's for my intern." He muttered, voice low and heavy.

"Geez, if you don't wanna answer then don't answer. You don't have to lie to me an-"

"He's real." Tony sighed with a small glare before glancing back over to his glass, swirling the liquid inside around. "Okay, well, I'm like 97% sure he's not a figment of my liquored up brain but whatever." He uttered before falling silent once more, staring hard at the glass in thought for a moment, hesitation clear on his face.

"His name's Peter. Peter Parker."

"Parker?"

"Yes. _That_ Parker. And before that judgmental look deepens, he's not here cause of that." He mumbled, glancing down at his glass once again. "I'd been considering taking in a few interns before this all started and he just happened to be at the top of the list." He breathed, glancing over towards the woman. "So, I'm testing the waters. Seeing how this plays out. If it goes well, I might start opening up Stark Industries to taking in more interns, outreaching more scholarships, all that jazz." He took another drink.

Natasha's eyebrows remained furrowed as she gave a small nod of her head. "Anything in particular that brought this up?" She asked, knowing that Tony had never mentioned something like this before. In fact, anything like this seemed a bit out of left field for him.

The man gave a small smirk. "Well in case you haven't noticed, the prospects of me bringing up an heir to the company are pretty slim to none if you know what I mean." He muttered. "So...I might as well start searching for some worthy candidates." He sighed.

Natasha gave another slow nod. "Alright, _that_ I can understand. But I'm still unclear as to why this particular intern seems to be allowed into your lab - something you're particularly bitchy about - as well as working on secret projects that plenty of people would like to get their hands on, especially said intern's _father."_ She murmured, staring back at Stark expectantly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah...Originally, I planned on just doing the whole coffee run, doughnuts, filing system shit and shebang with the kid."

"But?" She coaxed, knowing there as more.

"But..." Tony sighed running his fingers along the smooth surface of the glass in his hand. "I don't know...he's _weird."_

 _"Good_ weird or-"

"You know what, let's just leave it at weird, m'kay?" He scoffed. "He's...let's just say he's not like anyone else I've ever met before. H-he's shy, and awkward and... _painfully_ afraid of basically any and all people. But, the kid's a _fucking_ genius, Nat. I mean like Stark levels of genius.

Natasha couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Tony gave a small smirk, the look disappearing as he continued, his eyes staying locked on the glass in his hand. "Anyway, it's kinda obvious the kid has some...issues at home."

"Issues?" The woman echoed.

The man paused for a moment before taking another sip of his drink. "I don't want to talk about it. And Peter _definitely_ won't, so don't you even _think_ about bringing it up with him unless you want a panic attack on your hands." The woman grimaced slightly at that, Tony giving a small nod.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair as he let another sigh, perhaps the tenth one that night. "I don't know where I'm going with this. He...and I...he's just...weird." He murmured softly, though by the way he said it , it was obvious to Nat that there was more he wanted to say on the subject, but she could tell he just didn't know _how_ to. So he stopped.

The woman twisted the glass in her hands around, taking in the grooves and lines etched into the smooth surface before a small smile fell onto her face. "He sounds like a good match for you."

Tony threw her a questioning look before rolling his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms over his chest. "He's a lot like me in some aspects. Smart, kinda reclusive. But...he's also like my complete opposite in more ways than one." He realized.

"That's the point, genius." Nat scoffed with a smirk. "It sounds like you could learn a thing or two from each other."

Tony stared at her for a minute longer before turning away, staring back down at the table. "I don't know..."

Natasha blinked back at the man before her eyes flickered over towards the still-muted TV. Along the bottom of the screen, the time flashed in the corner, small print that was just big enough for her to make out. She let out a small breath as she placed the glass back down on the table, Tony taking a drink from his own. "I can't stay." She said softly. "I have people waiting for me."

Tony waved his hand dismissively as he rested a cheek on his propped up fist, staring down at the papers before him. "yea, go. Run off. Have fun in your hidey hole. Try not to get shot. Or don't. I don't care either way." He murmured in his usual snarky voice as he blinked down at the plans.

Natasha couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips at that. she knew the man was saying goodbye in his own little way. She also knew that it would be a while before things ever returned to how they were before, but she was willing to bet it was possible, if this _Peter_ kid was any indication.

"Ill be sure to drop by often, though. I gotta see this baby genius for myself." She called as she pulled her hoodie up once more, rising from her seat.

"Feel free not to." Tony called, not even lifting his head.

Natasha stared at him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll see you, Tony." She glanced warily at the bottle on the table. "Take care of yourself."

The man still didn't look up as the footsteps departed, dwindling before ceasing altogether. He turned away from the papers and lifted his hand to rub at his wrist once again, a tired sigh falling from his lips. He glanced behind him at the doorway before turning back towards the table. He reached over to pour himself another glass, only to find that the bottle of scotch was empty.

He glared at the offending object before dropping it back on the table. Rising up from his seat, he slowly walked over towards the side of the lab, his vision slightly hazy around the corners. Well, not hazy enough.

Reaching the back wall, the man stooped down next to the small cabinet and pulled out another bottle from his secret stash. Moving back over to the table, he plopped back down in his seat with a huff. Popping open the bottle, he poured himself another glass before setting it down once again.

He swirled the liquid around, watching as he splashed against the smooth glass walls.

He took another drink.

**. . . . .**

Natasha stole one last glance at the building behind her before pulling her hood up tighter, continuing to walk down the narrow sidewalk until she came to the next alleyway.

Turning down the darkened path, she continued to walk along the dirt path, stopping at the end. She leaned her back against the dirty stained brick wall, propping one foot up against the bricks as she folded her arms over her chest.

She let out a small sigh as she began to thrum her fingers against her arm, small strands of red hair falling down into her face as the brisk winds blew past her. After another few minutes of waiting, the soft sound of _whooshing_ met her ears. Lifting her eyes up to the sky, she watched Sam descend down into the alleyway next to her, his wings quickly retracting back into his pack.

She noticed his face was dirty and his arms and uniform seemed to be covered in dirt or ash. She quirked a brow, the man letting out a soft growl as he folded his arms. "Don't ask." He muttered, the woman holding her hands up in surrender.

"I didn't say anything."

The man scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. I just had a little run in with a spider pest." He grumbled.

Instantly, the smirk was washed off of her face as he turned her hard gaze towards him. "Did you hurt him?" She asked, her voice low and intense. Sam cocked a brow, his face twisting into one of confusion as he shook his head. "No, he's fine. A real pain in the ass, I'll say that. But...no. He's...he's alright, I guess." He murmured before turning back towards her. "Why so concerned all of a sudden?"

"I'm not. Stark is."

Sam narrowed his own eyes at that and turned away with a small scoff. "Yeah, sure." He uttered before lifting his head. "How'd that go anyway? You wish you'd listened to me and Clint yet about just staying away and letting that asshole deal with his own shit?" He growled.

Nat let out a small sigh as she watched Sam unstrap the pack, moving over towards the wall she was leaning against as he pulled out a raggedy backpack they'd stashed their earlier.

"No, actually. In fact, I plan on going back."

Sam threw her an incredulous look. "Come on, man. You can't be serious."

One look from her told him she was as serious as can be.

He let out an annoyed groan and shook his head. "We already have enough problems to deal with, Nat. We don't need to be adding _his_ to the pile! Stark's a grown man. He can handle himself." He tried to explain, though he knew it was a fruitless effort.

Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a jacket, a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses before he placed his own wings inside the bag, zipping it closed so that it looked like a regular old backpack. Undoing the jacket, he quickly wrapped it around himself and zipped it up, flipping the hoodie over his head as he placed a baseball cap over it, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his face as well.

Natasha watched silently before turning away. "You can spare me the lecture, alright? I already know I'm gonna have Clint up my ass for this. But you honestly think Steve's just gonna want to drop this?" She asked.

It was obvious what Sam's answer was as he groaned and glared up at the sky.

Before either of them could say any more, the sound of distant sirens had them quickly straightening up. Moving back over towards the end of the alley, Sam walked over to the rotting wooden fence blocking their way and pried one of the panels of wood away from the rest of the structure, revealing a human-sized hole that they could easily slip through.

Quickly and quietly moving past it, the pair began to walk along the darkened, shadowed path back to their safe house once again. they knew it was unlikely anyone would recognize them if they walked along the street, but they weren't one for taking chances.

Nat glanced over towards her partner as they walked. "So...Spider-Man, huh?"

"Yeah, the kid's a little asshole."

The woman smirked. "Yeah? Well, I got a kid of my own I need to scope out." She murmured with a chuckle. "I'm sure I can get a bit of fun out of that."

Sam moaned over dramatically as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Heh...there aren't enough prayers in the world for that poor soul."

Natasha let out a small huff of amusement.

" ...I know."


	10. Rule 5 Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5) I Will Never Eat Without Permission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Character Sheet 2: Team Cap Part 1](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/post/619762403190718464/character-sheet-2-team-cap-part-i)  
> [Character Sheet 3: Team Cap Part 2](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/post/620766748627632128/character-sheet-3-team-cap-part-ii)  
> All artwork by me, found on [A Beautiful Lie Blog](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/)

**Wednesday - March 30, 2016**

**Parker Residence- Second Floor**

**06:12 a.m.**

Peter could already feel the bruise forming before he'd even hit the floor, a harsh grunt of pain falling from his lips as he hit the wooden panels with a loud _thud._

For a quick millisecond, he just lay there, hands hovering over his throbbing eye as he moaned softly on the ground. But just as quickly as the wave of pain had washed over his face, realization of where he was and _who_ he was with filled his mind, washing out all other concerns.

Quickly he was floundering to gain his bearings once again, scrambling against the floor. He winced as his arm scraped up against the shards of broken glass now littering the floor alongside him, remnants of the orange juice that had once been held inside staining the ground as well. "Serves you right, you little shit!" Flint snarled as he glared down at his now-soaked shirt. "You can't even do this one measly thing right!" He growled, reaching down towards the teen.

Peter couldn't help the small yelp that escaped him as the man hauled him to his feet, gripping the collar of his shirt tightly as he slammed him into the back kitchen wall. Out of the corner of his wide eyes Peter could see Sandra and Curt watching silently, small smirks adorning their faces.

The teen wasn't sure whether they were laughing as his predicament or at the fact that Flint just had a glass of juice spilled all over him. He was willing to bet it was a combination of both.

"You havin' some trouble over there, Flint?" Curt called over, his mouth curling into a sickening grin as his yellowing teeth peeked through his cracked lips.

The big, burly man released one hand to point at the seated figure while his other continued to hold Peter up against the wall. "You shut the _fuck_ up, alright?!" He snapped, eyes blazing as small flecks of sand began to drop from the tip of the man's finger, a sign of how pissed he really was.

Despite the argueably terrifying situation Peter was currently stuck in, the teen couldn't help the small flicker of anger that burned right alongside the usual fear that burned coldly in his heart. He could feel his fists clenching tighter around the man's wrist, willing him to let his go.

They just loved choosing _any_ opportunity to screw with the teen, and if he were being honest with himself, he was really getting fucking _sick_ of it.

"Well maybe next time, you can try getting the orange juice _yourself."_ The words were out before he could remind himself of his place.

Dark eyes swiveled around to stared down at him. Peter blinked in realization and felt his hands clench even tighter around the man's wrist. _God, this just had to happen on a school day._

Before he could make another move, a large hand was flying across his face again, the same side as before. Peter grunted as he felt spittle fly from his mouth, his face burning fiercly as he felt himself get thrown to the ground.

"You feel like mouthing off now, huh? Is that what it is, you little shit?!" Flint roared as he slammed the toe of his boot into Peter's side.

The teen groaned in pain as he flopped back down onto the ground, eyes shut tightly as he wrapped his arms around his midsection, hoping to add just the tiniest layer of protection against the man's wrath. _God, stupid! You stupid, stupid, idiot!_ He screamed at himself. _Mouth shut! Always keep your mouth shut! Why can't you remember that?!_ _You so deserve this!_

The boot came crashing into his side again, his ribs jolting painfully as he gasped.

Now, normally, the teen knew better than to try and escape. Such efforts or any attempt to fight back only made the hits rain down twice as hard. However, the fact that is was 6:15 a.m. on a school day had his eyes flickering over towards his backpack.

Usually, they waited until Friday to wail on him. By the end of the weekend, most of the bruises were already disappearing. But any injuries he'd receive in the mornings were usually still there in the afternoon. Which was why they tried to avoid dealing such blows on weekdays - on schooldays. Usually, they'd at _least_ hit him some place he could cover up.

But seeing how it _was_ Flint, Peter wasn't too surprised that the man seemed to have forgotten such a fact. He'd never really been the brains of the group. Peter was pretty sure his father only kept him around cause he was arguably the strongest out of all the Cons. Plus his stupidity was usually good for a laugh or two. At least to the Cons.

Peter never was one to laugh along with them.

Taking all of this into consideration, Peter was quick to realize that if this continued, there would be too many bruises to explain safely, without suspicion.

The hairs on his neck tingled as he heard Flint rearing back to deliver another swift kick.

Taking only another moment to hesitate, and another to regret his descisions before he'd even _made_ them, Peter rolled out of the way of the kick, his ribs flairing painfully as he quickly skirted by Sandra and Curt and dove for his backpack, which was leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Hey! Where the _fuck_ do you think you're going, you bastard?!" Flint snarled after him as he began to bound down the stairs, taking two at a time as he leapt off the remaining few and landed on the first floor.

"I'm not finished with you, you hear me?! I'm gonna kick your fucking ass when you get back, you sorry son of a bitch! I swear I'll-"

Peter didn't bother to hear the rest as he slammed the front door behind him.

Great. Well, not he had _that_ to look forward to later.

The teen stole a single glance over his shoulder as he jumped off of the front steps to the house and landed on the sidewalk. Wincing slightly as the movement jarred his bruised ribs, the teen gripped his backpack tightly in one hand as he began to race down the sidewalk.

He either ignored the indignant shouts of the people he passed on the street, or threw them hurried apologies over his shoulder as he sprinted down the block.

He didn't stop.

Not as the subway sign appeared in the distance. Not as he was bounding down the steps of the tunnel. Not when small black dots began to blink before his eyes.

Hmm...should he be concerned about that?

No matter, he didn't stop to think about that either.

He didn't stop until he came to his terminal. Thankfully, his train was already there, so he didn't have to wait long. He could hear the shakiness of his breathing more than he could feel it as he slipped through the doorway of the train, slinking to the very back of the car.

A ragged breath tore through his chest as he plopped down in the questionably-stained chair, fingers clenching into the fabric of his jeans as he fought to gain control over the frantic beating of his heart, which threatened to rip right out of his chest.

He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth as a pounding feeling rocked against his head, the throbbing pain making him want to hurl.

Swallowing down the bile currently rising in his throat, the teen blinked open his eyes and glanced over towards the window by his side. A small involuntary hiss sounded from his teeth as he caught a small glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Glancing back down, the teen reached a shaky hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The cracked screen stared back at him as he tapped the device to life, quickly pulling up the camera as he flipped the lense to capture him.

Peter couldn't help but suck in a strained breath as he caught sight of the damage. His face as already scratched up enough from the previous night's... _activities,_ but at least those had already been fading. At least those had barely been noticeable anymore.

Safe to say that was not the case anymore.

The left side of his face was _already_ beginning to bruise, the tinges of dark purple and blue beginning to seep through the dark red skin, spreading across his cheek and eye like blood soaking through a thin, white towel.

The discoloration stood out like a sore thumb compared to his already pale complexion, though that much he was used to. He was _not_ , however, used to his skin being as pale as it was right then. He tapped the screen of his phone a few times to make sure it wasn't malfunctioning before pulling it closer.

It wasn't a trick of the light. His skin was about two shades paler than usual, taking on a soft sickly color that made the bruises and the dark bags under his eyes stand out even more than usual.

The teen continued to stare down at his reflection before another piercing stab through his head had him sliding his phone back into his pocket with a small groan of pain. He shut his eyes and gently pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

He desperately tried to ignore the sharp pangs his stomach continue to ring out, wrapping his arms around his midsection as he focused on breathing. He was starting to lose track of the last time he'd eaten anything.

His father claimed it threw off the testing. Peter knew better.

He knew that having his father say when he could and couldn't eat anything was just another way to control him. If he had to grovel whenever he ever wanted to end the pain in his gut, Richard Parker held so much more power over him.

But he'd known that for years.

Usually, the routine was pretty steady. He'd come home, make dinner and serve his father and the Cons. Most often, his father would tell him to take a plate up to his room while he and the others discussed _"business"_. He didn't complain. He didn't say _anything._

Of course, there were the days when the Cons just liked to mess with him. He was beginning to assume it was like a game to them. Just see how miserable you can make the brat. Then again, there were the times he made his _father_ angry with him.

That usually led to a couple hungry days.

For a normal person, such habits could be considered unhealthy. But for someone with a super-charged metabolism that required three times the consumption rate of normal people, such behavior was downright deadly.

Of course, Peter had learned ways to bypass such a rule. Whether it was Mr. Delmar sneaking him a few extra sandwiches from the bodega, Ned packing some stashaway snacks, MJ throwing the occasional apple at the back of his head or _hell,_ sometimes he'd score something from the dumpsters behind some of the 24-hour buffet restaurants that frequented many of the city streets.

More often than not, his go-to guy for making sure he didn't pass out in Chemistry Class was Ned, who would always forcefully shove a sandwich or two into his hands whenever he looked a little peaked. However, Peter knew such a source wasn't going to be available to him for the next couple days.

Safe to say, Ned had been particularly chatty over the last few days. Peter couldn't really blame him. When you find out your best friend is a part-time vigilante, swinging around the city in red and blue spandex while fighting crime, you're sure to come up with a couple questions.

Over the weekend, Peter estimated the boy had sent him over two hundred texts, not to mention they'd Facetimed on Saturday for about an hour. Even after all of that, Ned had promised on Sunday that he'd arrive at school with a bucket-load of new, probing questions.

However, come Monday morning and Peter's phone had been blown with a whole new assortment of texts, only this time, they weren't about Spider-Man. Instead, it was Ned warning him of his impending absence from school for the week, complaining about the stomach bug he'd caught from his little sister.

So...that was out.

Not only that, but for some reason, MJ had been absent on both Monday _and_ Tuesday. Of course, the girl was much more discrete with her details. When he'd texted her, all she'd replied was something about visiting some family upstate before practically threatening him with murder if he didn't study for their upcoming Decathlon meet, promptly ending the conversation.

Option number two was gone.

Add in the fact that his father's trip to _Who-Knows-Where_ had left him in a particularly sore mood - Peter having to pay for such a fact - and you have the perfect recipe for discrete starvation.

In his mind, Peter knew such things probably should have worried him. After all, the subway was highly air-conditioned and yet, he could still feel beads of sweat rolling down his forehead while goosebumps ran up and down his arms underneath his sweater.

He also should have been worried about the fact that his heart still had not stopped beating furiously, despite the fact that he'd been resting for quite a while now. Usually, it took only a minute or two to calm the frantic beating of his heart, but it still felt like it would pop out of his chest at any minute.

He _should_ have been worried. But he wasn't. After all, he didn't even _want_ to eat anymore. Just the thought of food alone had him wanting to hurl.

That should have worried him too.

If he had the energy, Peter would have popped his earbuds in, but just the thought of moving when he didn't have to had the pain in his head increasing by three. So instead, he was content in just feeling the vibrations of the train as it skidded by on the tracks, eyes shut tightly as he counted the seconds tick by. Thankfully, not too many people had boarded that particular car, so it was mostly silent.

After he'd lost track of his counting for the fifth time, Peter decided to stop. Apparently, the train did as well.

Cracking open his eyes, the teen winced at the brightness of the fluorescent lights over head and glanced out the window, watching as the station came into view.

Taking a second to reign himself back in, the teen reached into his pocket to check his phone, wondering if maybe Ned had flashed him a text. As the screen lit up once again, for a fraction of a second, Peter wondered if he'd see a text from his father or one of the Cons.

Years ago, after a particularly nasty beating that left him with a bruise on his forehead, Peter had been heading to school when he'd gotten a text from his father. He could still remember exactly what it'd said.

**_You were messing around and fell down the stairs._ **

**_Understand?_ **

**_If I get a message from your school about this, we're gonna spend some time in the Terrarium again._ **

They never texted him again. They didn't have to.

With a small groan, the teen pushed himself off the window, biting his lip as a fresh wave of nausea raced through him, his head spiking painfully. Taking a second to make sure he wasn't about to start dry-heaving, the teen wrapped a shaky hand around the straps of his backpack and hoisted it over his shoulder, slowly stumbling off the train.

His legs moved sluggishly as he trudged up the stairs. He had to look back more than once to make sure there weren't any weights tied to his feet as he moved, the sheer exhaustion of the action making him blink in shock.

 _Hmm...maybe sprinting all the way to the station_ wasn't _the best idea_. He murmured to himself as he stepped off the station stairwell. Any energy reserved he'd been saving had been all but used up in his little master escape.

Whatever, he'd worry about that later. Right now, he had another monster to deal with.

Swallowing the last remnants of bile that had caught in his throat, the teen let out a shaky breath and pushed through the doors of the school. He still had about ten minutes before the first bell rang, but the hallways were already pretty crowded.

Instantly, the noise pierced his skull like an icepick being driven through his ear. He couldn't help the wince that passed through his lips as he pressed one ear against his shoulder, eyes squinting in pain. Clenching his fists, he stood off to the side for a moment as he tried to take control over his breathing once again, struggling to focus on taking nice even breaths as he resisted the urge to puke all over the sophomore currently standing at his locker next to him.

As the initial pain of the noise began to subside, Peter wrapped his arms around himself and ducked his head, slowly beginning to move towards his locker. For once, he was glad Ned and MJ weren't hear. He _so_ did not have the energy to pretend for them today. To lie to them today. To smile through his teeth even though there was nothing to smile about today.

For once, he could just focus on making it through the day in once piece without having to put up a facade for anyone. Nope. Instead he could concentrate on not passing out in Math.

"What's up, Loser?"

_Of fucking course._

Remembering at the very last second about his bruise, Peter resisted the urge to spin around to face her as Michelle walked over. Instead, the teen kept his head facing his open locker as he braced his hands against the sides of it. "You better have studied like I told you to otherwise you're gonna get to know the shovel in my backyard very well." The girl muttered as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned up against the lockers beside him.

He ducked his head away as casually as he could manage. "Of course I studied. I always study." He tried to replicate his usual tone. His mouth tasted like ash.

MJ rolled her eyes as she blew at a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Glaring at the offending piece of hair, the girl stole a small glance over towards the boy, who continued to look anywhere but at her, his long brown curls falling down in front of his face, concealing it in shadow. "I...I didn't think you'd be back...today." He murmured softly.

The girl scoffed. "Glad to know I was missed."

Peter instantly tensed as his grip on his textbooks tightened. He still didn't turn towards her. "I-I...I didn't mean-"

"Relax, Parker. I'm just messin' with you." She scoffed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed the teen's demeanor. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms and dropped them down at her sides, resting on on her hip as she stared at him. "You're being weird. Explain."

His grip tightened as he closed his locker. "Weird? Me...I-I'm not...I don't think..." He was tripping over his words again. That wasn't a good sign. "I'm not being weird."

"Yeah, alright. You're lying isn't getting any better. Maybe you should be studying _that._ " She scoffed, the harsh tone doing well to mask the growing discomfort that was starting to gnaw at her stomach.

"I...I'm not l-lying."

"Mm-hmm...then why won't you look at me?"

Her eyes stayed trailed on the boy as she studied his movements, waiting to see how he'd react. Peter's eyes clenched shut, the steady pounding only growing with each passing second. He really couldn't deal with this right now. He knew MJ was his friend and was most likely just concerned (he thought so at least, it was hard to get a read on her), more than anything, he just wanted her to go away. He wanted everyone to go away.

"Hello? Earth to Peter? You tuning me out?"

Realizing ignoring it would most likely just make it worse, Peter cracked his eyes back open, taking a small steadying breath as he stared down at the cover of his textbook. He barely registered the fact that his heart was still frantically thrumming against his chest. Taking one last minute to prepare himself for the inevitable reaction, the teen steeled himself and looked up.

Michelle froze as her eyes widened slightly. He watched as her eyes quickly scanned every inch of him, taking in whatever they could before finally landing back on his face. Well...more like the left side of his face.

"I just had a rough weekend."

He took a small step forward, only to press his back up against the lockers behind him as Michelle stepped in front of him, eyes dark and cold. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked, her voice tight and controlled. If it weren't for the fact that her fists were clenched at her sides, Peter would have assumed she was simply asking about the weather.

The teen shrugged. "I had a little accident in the kitchen yesterday." He murmured.

Michelle cocked a brow. "What kind of accident?"

Peter resisted the urge to rub circles into the back of his hand. He knew it would be a dead giveaway to the observant girl. She knew he only rubbed at the spot whenever he was nervous or uncomfortable. "I was making dinner when I slipped on some of the water I spilled on the floor. Hit my head on the counter." He explained.

Lying had become like second nature to him. Excuses. Quick responses. It all made to be a pretty useful skill when he needed it to be. Of course, it helped that most people assumed he couldn't lie for shit. It helped make moments like this all the more believable.

"It looks worse than it is." He tried to reassure her. "Really all it did was set me back ten minutes for dinner, so _that_ was kinda annoying."

God, he was getting too good at this.

Michelle continued to stare at him, eyes seeming to bore into him. For a moment, Peter had to wonder whether or not Michelle had super hearing as well, for if not, there was no way she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. But the look she was currently giving him said otherwise.

However, after a moment, the girl let out a small scoff. "God, you are such a loser." She muttered, Peter hiding the small sigh of relief that flew from his lips at that. The feeling was short-lived, however, as Michelle rounded on him again. "Alright, so I get that. But it doesn't explain why you look like you just exsanguinated yourself." She uttered. "Or why you look like you're gonna pass out any second."

Peter felt a grimace form on his face as he glanced away. "I just...don't feel...all that good today." He finally said softly, pressing his back harder against the lockers as a small wave of dizziness washed over him. It was gone a second later, but by the look MJ was currently giving him, she'd seen the way he'd swayed.

He threw her a small, nervous smile to which the girl responded with a scowl.

This was not going good.

"Yo! Penis Parker!

And... _that_ was worse.

Peter couldn't suppress the small groan that escaped him as Flash came into view. As the boy approached, Peter slowly pushed himself away from the lockers, keeping one hand pressed up against the cool metal, if only as a support. Michelle's eyes narrowed in annoyance as the boy rounded the corner, folding his arms as he threw a smirk at the pair.

"Where's your boyfriend?" He called as he glanced at Peter. "You two go at it too hard last night?" He sneered.

The usual uncomfortable feeling that arose whenever Flash was nearby began to crawl up his spine, but he resisted the urge to rub the back of his hand as MJ let out a scoff of her own. "Please. Even if they did, at least he actually got some action." She muttered before casting Flash a small look with a quirked brow. "Maybe next time they'll invite you if you ask nicely."

Flash curled his lip as he glared at the girl, who was quick to copy the boy's look as the two stared off. Peter glanced between the pair before awkwardly clearing his throat. "Ahem...not that this conversation _isn't_ the greatest, but for your information, Ned's at home." He murmured, turning towards Flash. "He caught that bug that's been going around for the last couple weeks."

The boy continued to glare at Michelle for a moment longer before relenting, letting out a snort. "Uh-huh...sure." He mocked, malicious eyes boring into Peter. The teen looked away and turned towards the floor, pressing his hand harder into the metal of the lockers. He could practically feel the vibrations racking his skull so much so that he had to harness his willpower to not smash his head against the lockers just to get a little bit of relief.

"What do you want anyways, Thompson?" MJ muttered, a new look of indifference masking her features, the previous anger now gone.

Flash shook off whatever annoyance he'd been feeling as he stepped closer to Peter, wrapping an arm around the teen's shoulders. Peter winced at the harsh movements as he squinted his eyes in pain. Either flash didn't notice, or he just didn't care. Peter was willing to bet on the latter.

"Just thought you should know that Penis here _really_ dropped the ball at decathlon practice yesterday." He smirked. "You should have seen him floundering around, guessing all the wrong answers. It was hilarious and actually...kinda sad." He patted the teen's shoulder.

Both Peter and Michelle shared annoyed looks at the teen's words.

Ever since Peter had joined the team, Flash had been looking to kick him off. Peter assumed it could have been because of many reasons. Maybe it was cause as long as he was on the team, Flash would remain as First Alternate. Maybe it was because the other members enjoyed having Peter around more than Flash. Or maybe it was just cause Flash didn't like him.

Yeah...that one sounded about right.

Peter had gotten used to the boy trying his best to crawl underneath his skin, belittling him to the other members of the team as he tried to convince them that it would be best just to kick the teen off the team. No matter how many times the team made it clear that they weren't getting rid of Peter anytime soon, Flash never wasted an opportunity to try and convince them. And considering the fact that their Team Captain had been absent from their last practice - which rarely happened - the rich boy obviously saw it as a perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble.

"Anyway, just here to remind you that the team's been wondering when you're gonna do what's best and kick him off." The teen concluded with a pearly smile.

Michelle's eyes seemed to get colder, if such a feat were possible. She folded her arms across her chest as she cocked her hip. "Really? The ' _team'_?" She quoted with a raised brow. "You mean the same team I talked to half an hour ago? The same team that gave me a debriefing on the practice yesterday?"

Flash's smile faltered.

"The same team that said Peter - as usual - got every question right while you were spending your time snapchatting in the corner?" Her eyes narrowed as a small smile formed on her lips. "Yeah, I heard. Thanks for the heads up, though. It's nice to be reminded that we made the right choice in keeping you as an alternate." She sighed before turning away.

Flash instantly stepped away from Peter as he stepped closer towards the girl, his anger finally seeping through in his voice. Peter couldn't help the small sigh of relief as Flash removed his arm from his shoulder. He shut his eyes and lowered his head, concentrating in keeping himself from swaying as his head gave another fierce throb.

"Oh, come on!" Flash slapped his hands down against the sides of his designer jeans. "the only reason I didn't answer any questions is because I already knew the answers! Everybody knows that." He scoffed before glaring back at the girl. "Don't tell me you actually think this loser is smarter than me."

MJ slowly turned back around as she held one of the straps of her backpack, her other hand hanging limply by her side. "I don't think he's smarter than you."

Peter glanced up.

"There! You se-"

The girl leaned closer, eyes narrowed. "I _know_ he is. And the rest of the team does, too." She growled. "Face it, Flash. The only way you're moving up from Alternate is if you prove you deserve it. But I don't see that happening anytime soon. So I suggest you stop wasting my time and give the whole _'mocking Peter'_ thing a break, cause it just proves you aren't heading up anytime soon." She muttered before spinning on her heel and walking away, her curly hair swishing around her shoulders as she moved.

Peter and Flash both watched her walk away just as the bell rang above their heads. Peter swallowed as he grimaced slightly. Pushing himself off the lockers as he hunched his shoulders. "Nice talking to you, as always, Flash." He murmured softly as he began to walk away.

He didn't expect for his backpack to be grabbed and forecfully pulled back, a startled yelp falling from his mouth. Wide eyes stared back at Flash in shock as the teen inched closer, eyes seething. "Don't think this is over, freak. I deserve that spot way more than you do." He pointed a sharp finger in Peter's chest. He curled his fingers as his head pounded. He couldn't take this right now.

"The only reason they give it to you is cause they pity you, Penis." Flash snarled. "Why wouldn't they? Everyone in this school knows you're nothing but a loser." He growled out, teeth grinding as he stepped closer to the teen. Peter backed up another step, a fresh wave of dizziness engulfing him at the increased noise of the people moving around him in the halls as well as the boy that was practically screaming in his face.

This really _wasn't_ going all that well, huh?

Flash obviously didn't notice the teen's distress, for he simply took another step closer. "Well, once they get tired of you, you're out of there! It's only a matter of time." He growled, shoving the teen hard against the lockers.

Usually, such a move would force Peter to willingly allow his body to slam against the cool metal, if only to avoid suspicion. However, it was obvious neither boys were expecting Peter to crash to the floor following the shove. But the teen couldn't stop his descent. A grunt of pain fell from his lips as he hit the cold tile, his shoulder jarring painfully as his head threatened to explode, his stomach churning like a frothing pot.

A loud whining filled his ears, the previous loud noises sounding soft and far off, almost as if he was underwater. Cracking his eyes open once more, he instantly shut them again with a wince, the lights blurry as they bled into each other. He shakily pushed himself up, pressing one hand against his forehead as his legs remained sprawled out next to him.

Gritting his teeth, the whining refused to leave his ears as he dared to crack his eyes open once again. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of people shouting, though the words were garbled and warped, though the high-pitch nature of the sound made Peter assume it was a girl.

Lifting his head, the teen lifted his gaze painfully. He noticed that the people in the hallway were now staring at the scene before them. Michelle was there again. When had she gotten back? Peter couldn't remember. She was yelling at Flash, whose hands were held up as an annoyed look marred his features.

Suddenly, Peter noticed a new figure push through the crowd. It took him a moment to recognize the man through the painful whining in his skull as Mr. Harrington approached the two bickering teens. Once again, the words were foggy and muffled, but whatever they said had Flash walking away in a huff, melting away into the crowd, which Mr. Harrington was quick to disperse.

Peter blinked groggily as a hand was being placed on his shoulder and fingers were holding his chin, forcefully lifting his face. Wincing slightly as the whining spiked before dying down, Peter noticed that Michelle was now kneeling in front of him, holding his face in her hands as her lips moved. Peter assumed she was speaking, but he couldn't really drag in the energy to care about what she was saying. At least the whining was quieting.

"-er? -eter! C..n ear...me?"

He blinked at her again. There was something in her face. Her features weren't as hard as usual and her eyes held none of their usual cold indifference. No, for some reason, they looked...softer. Concerned.

Hmm...weird.

"M-MJ?" He murmured. Was that him speaking though? It didn't sound like him. It sounded...weird. Weaker.

The whining slowly began to taper off until all he could hear was the soft clacking of people's feet as they scurried off to their classes, the three quickly becoming the only people in the hallway. Mr. Harrington knelt down beside MJ, who was now helping Peter sit up against the lockers. "Peter? Can you hear me?" He asked softly.

The teen winced as he pressed his head back against the cold of the lockers, giving a small nod. "Y-yeah...yeah, I can hear you." He said softly. "I...I'm okay." HE murmured, though even _he_ didn't believe it. "I...I didn't mean to freak everyone out. I'm...I'm fine."

Michelle and Mr. Harrington shared a look before turning back to Peter. "You're fine?" The girl echoed, crossing her arms. "You literally just took a nosedive in the middle of the hallway." She muttered, though her fingers tapped nervously against her arms.

Peter gave a small smile as he blew a small breath from his mouth. "I'm good. R-really. I...I just got a little dizzy. Plus Flash is a jerk so that didn't help." He explained, hoping they'd buy it enough to leave him alone.

Mr. Harrington's face darkened as he let out a sigh. "I'll have to have a word with him about this." He uttered, only for Peter to lean closer. "No!" He jerked in, the other two turning towards him in shock.

Peter quickly retracted and bit his lip as he glanced down at the floor. "It's...it's not a big deal." He muttered, his fingers curling into his jeans once again. "Can't...can't we just...forget about this?" He murmured. "I...it's not worth it. Please."

From the look on Mr. Harrington's face, it was obvious he wanted to do no such thing. Judging by the look on MJ's face, it looked like _she_ wasn't planning on forgetting _anytime_ soon. However, the desperation in the teen's voice had the teacher hesitating. He continued to stare at Peter, fingers twitching in thought as he took in the sight before him.

"Do you want to go the nurse?" He asked, his eyes lingering on the teen's bruised face for a moment longer.

Peter shook his head, his gaze staying locked onto the tiled floor beneath him.

The older man knelt there for another minute before he let out a small tired sigh. "Alright. If you're sure you're alright." He murmured softly as he and Michelle helped the boy to his feet, his movements tense and uncomfortable...as usual.

Peter gripped one of the straps of his backpack tightly with both hands, curls falling into his face. "You two should probably get to class." He said with a soft smile. "Peter, if you start to feel bad, don't hesitate to head on down to the nurse, alright?" He called, the teen giving a small, controlled nod. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, Peter quickly tensing under his touch. "I'll check up on you later. You have my class later today so I'll keep an eye out."

Michelle nodded for the boy, grabbing roughly onto his sleeve. "Yeah, thanks Mr. Harrington. We'll see you later." She murmured, flashing the teacher a grateful nod before practically dragging the boy in her grasp down the hall. Once they rounded the corner, she all boy jumped in front of him, eyes seething.

"Alright, Parker. Slip. What the hell was that all about?" She growled out.

Peter stared down at her, long brown curls concealing some of her face from his view. Usually, such an intense look from the girl was enough to have him a stuttering mess, but for some reason, the ten couldn't muster up the energy to really care. He shut his eyes and turned away, wincing slightly as his head screeched. God, that was getting annoying.

"Pet-"

"Look, I _really_ don't want to talk about this right now, alright?!" He growled out, his voice much harsher than he'd been expecting. But to be honest, he didn't really care about that either. He couldn't bring himself to say sorry again. Not when the lights above him seemed to be dialed up to eleven. Not when they threatened to make him tear his own eyes out. Why was it so _fucking_ bright?!

MJ blinked in mild surprise at the boy's shift in demeanor. She curled her fists and was about to retort something back, only to pause as she caught sight of the small tears blinking at the corners of the boy's eyes. Rearing back slightly, the girl washed her eyes over the rest of the boy in front of her.

His shaking hands were curled tightly into the bottom of his jacket as his chest moved in erratic, frantic patterns. His jaw was tense and his eyes were scrunched tightly. The bruise on his face seemed to be darkening, or perhaps it was just his skin turning paler. Either way, the teen seemed sick.

The girl stared for a moment longer before taking a step back, a small sigh falling past her lips. She didn't need to be a genius to tell when someone was in pain.

Peter waited for the girl to begin yelling at him, or at least Michelle's version of yelling, which he was willing to bet was worse than the average person's version. However, he quickly jumped in surprise as he felt something being slid over his face. Cracking his eyes open as he fully expected the harsh lights to pierce through him again, he was even _more_ shocked to find that everything had been tinted a darker shade of blue, the filter acting as a calming wave of relief for his splintering brain.

Before he could react, he felt something being pushed into his hands. Glancing down, the teen saw he was now holding three small orange pills. Blinking in mild surprise, he turned back up to face the girl in front of him. Michelle's arms were folded over her chest once more as she stared at him with her usual intense look. "You're lucky I carry around my migraine medication, Loser." She muttered. "Take these with some water. They should kick in in around half an hour. Think you can keep from passing out till then?" She uttered with a roll of her eyes as she turned and began to walk towards her class.

Peter stared down at the pills for a moment longer before his brain finally caught up with him. He lifted his head once again. "MJ?" He called after the girl, the teen turning at the end of the hallway to glance back at him.

He gave a soft smile, feeling just a shade lighter for the first time that day. "Thank you."

The girl stared at him for a moment longer before hoisting her backpack farther over her shoulder. "I'll see you at lunch. Try not to die before then or I'll kill you." She muttered before rounding the corner.

Peter stared after her before turning to look at the pills, the same strange familiar feeling he'd been noticing often twinging in his chest once again. Only this time, there was something different. There was something off about it. It felt...stranger. He'd felt it as Michelle's dark brown eyes had been staring into him. He'd felt it as her fingers brushed up against his cheeks.

. . . .

That should have worried him, too.

* * *

**Wednesday - March 30, 2016**

**Location Unknown**

**03:52 p.m.**

"You can't be serious. You can't be _fucking_ serious!"

"Funny. And here I thought you could _always_ tell when I was and wasn't joking around, Barton. Guess I overestimated you."

Clint threw her a glare as Natasha stripped off the worn, dirty shirt she'd previously been wearing. Tossing it onto one of the racks nailed into the cement wall, the woman picked another clean shirt from the pile they'd collected in the corner.

"Natasha, you can't actually be considering this. I mean, it's insane. You just...you can't-" The spy started, only for the woman to cut him off as she began to roll up the edges of the new blouse.

"Oh, please. Go ahead. Tell me what I can and cannot do, Clint. Cause right now, you sound a lot like those assholes up on Capital Hill who put us all here in the first place." She muttered, eyes leveling the man a cool stare as she pulled the shirt over her head, straightening it out around her stomach as she pulled her hair out of the collar.

Sam, Wanda and Scott all watched from around the archer as he clenched his fists. Sam and Scott currently sat on some of the many wooden boxes that had been strewn about their chosen warehouse while Wanda leaned up against the back wall, arms crossed over her chest.

They'd been going at it for at least a half an hour now, and it didn't seem to be dying down anytime soon. But it wasn't like there was much else to do. They'd been camping out in the large, dirty warehouse for nearly two months now. Compared to the pristine walls and high tech glamour of the Wakandan kingdom they'd come from, it was a definite step down.

But they couldn't stay. Not when they knew what they knew. So if they had to trade comfort and protection for a damp, smelly warehouse, then so be it. They'd do it if it meant continuing their jobs. The jobs they'd been prosecuted for doing. The jobs they refused to give up.

So, while they spent the nights planning, scanning and patrolling the underground networks as they tried to dig up some information on the weapon deals, the days themselves weren't all that eventful. More often than not, they'd either sleep in, swap stories or tidy up their "living quarters", which were just different corners of the warehouse.

The structure was big, they'd give it that. Considering it was next to the bay, it was most likely used for shipping containers and storage. But now it was empty and abandoned, perfect for them. The thick cememnt walls divided the large space into two different rooms, sharply cut incisions in the stone the closest thing they had to doorways. Along the walls sat large metal racks, which held clothes, water bottles, food. Basically a necessities wall for going on the run.

Or course, they kept their personal weapons on their person most of the time so there was no need to store those away. Especially now, when Natasha seemed only a few moments away from pulling her pistol out on Clint.

The archer narrowed his eyes as Natasha continued to change her clothes. "Yeah, well I'm not the one who wants to go and visit one of those assholes, jeopardizing our entire cover while she's at it." He growled. "No, you go right ahead. What right do we, your actual _trusted teammates,_ have to put our say into this matter?"

The woman opened her mouth to say something, only for Sam to pick his head up. "He's right, Natasha." He murmured. "This mission would be a dangerous one all on its own. We all know going out in broad daylight is dangerous enough for us right now. But you'd actually be willing to compromise our position just...just to see Stark? Just to visit one of the people who dumped this mess on us?" He asked, voice hiding none of his anger at the topic.

"What makes you so certain he will not turn you in the second you show up?" Wanda voiced from her spot against the wall.

Natasha didn't lift her head as she pulled a jacket from the pile of clothes. "He didn't the last time."

"Yeah, and he's been known to be such a valuable and trustworthy person in the past." Clint muttered. "He's probably just waiting for you to make the same mistake again, the very same mistake you're about to make right now." He growled out.

Natasha lifted her head, staring at the man with her calm, piercing, unwavering gaze. "I'm going, Clint."

Wanda pushed herself off of the wall, stepping closer. "You'd be willing to place him above us, your own teammates? You're choosing him over us?"

"Don't be such a child." The woman scoffed, Wands glaring right back at the words. "I'm not choosing anybody over anyone else. I'm simply going to check on a friend."

Clint folded his arms. "Shockingly, I don't think that's the word he'd use to describe you."

"Better than what he'd use to describe _you._ "

That earned her another glare.

"Umm...c-can I just say...something...here?"

Four heads turned towards Scott, the man hesitantly lifting his hand into the air like a seventh-grader asking a question. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Look...I don't really know this Stark guys all that well. Actually...I don't really know _any_ of you all that well if we're really being honest here and-"

"The point, Scott." Sam muttered.

"Right, right!" The man huffed with a small nervous smile. "All I'm saying is that this seems like a pretty risky operation. And like, I don't know if I should be mentioning this to you or whatever but I was kinda a pretty good burglar back in the day and uh...one of the main things you always had to remember was to avoid any _unnecessary_ risks, and that's kinda what this sounds like. An _unnecessary_ risk."

Natasha lowered her head once more as she began to unzip the jacket. Sam glanced over towards the man. "You were a robber?"

"Burglar, actually."

"Is there a difference?"

Scott let out an annoyed huff. "' _is there a difference?_ " He echoed. "As a matter of fact-"

"Can we _focus_ please?!" Clint puffed with a well pointed glare towards the two bickering men. He turned back towards Natasha, who was shrugging the jacket onto her shoulders. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Natasha-" He stressed, only for her to wrench her arm out of his grasp and lean forward, eyes sharp as they glared back at him.

"I'm _going._ " She growled, her voice taking on a deadly tone.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and took another step forward. "Stark doesn't care about you." She spat. "He doesn't care about any of us. He made that perfectly clear when he betrayed us." She huffed, folding her arms once again. "You honestly think he is worth all of this? You think he deserves you caring about him?"

"No."

All heads turned upwards towards the catwalk platforms above their heads, the new voice grabbing their attention. "In all honesty, he deserves a lot more. But this is all we have right now." Steve moved over towards the stairs. "So we're gonna have to make it work."

"Cap, come on, man!" Sam called as the large figure began to descend the metal stairs as he joined them on the ground. "You of all people have to be against this." he continued.

"You _cannot_ trust him. You have to understand that." Wanda stressed. "He is not our ally."

Steve stopped in front of them. Similar to the rest of them, he was dressed in casual clothes. A light grey shirt underneath a dark blue jacket, his actual uniform safely stashed away with the rest of theirs. On his face, there was the barest hint of a light beard. "Maybe not." he murmured. "But he certainly isn't our enemy."

Clint scoffed. "Wanna bet?"

"Barton, shut your mouth for one _fucking_ second before I shut it for you." Natasha snarled, taking a threatening step forward. Clint narrowed his eyes, but said nothing else.

Steve let out a sigh. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. And I know tensions are a little high right now a-"

"A _little_ high?" Sam echoed, crossing his arms. "You're kidding, right?"

The super soldier leveled him a hard look. " _But_ you all have to stop seeing this as black and white. Cause things aren't like that. Not anymore." He stressed before lowering his gaze. "Maybe that was the whole problem."

The others each shared small glances. The look on the man's face was the same look that always followed up his thoughts of Siberia. He never talked about it. They never asked. It was an unspoken agreement to never bring it up. In all honesty, they didn't want to.

After Steve and Barnes had broken them out of the Raft, they'd all fled. Wakanda had been the safest place for them at the time. Cap hadn't said much about what had transpired between him and Tony, other than that they had gotten into a fight, and a pretty bad one judging from the fact that Bucky's arm was...well, nonexistent.

Sam had been furious, of course. After all, the only reason he'd disclosed the man's location in the first place was because he'd made him promise to go as a friend and he'd done just the opposite. Steve assured the man that it wasn't like that. That things were much more complicated, but Sam - the others didn't see it that way. All they was was Stark hammering the final nail on their coffin.

They were fugitives.

And it was all his fault.

They just couldn't understand why Steve didn't see it that way.

"Look, I know this is hard. And I know none of you are in quite a forgiving mood right now." Steve uttered. "But you need to understand that Stark isn't the bad guy here."

"Well he certainly isn't the good guy." Clint muttered.

"What, and we are?" Natasha countered. Sam let out an angered huff. "He lied, Cap. He lied to my face. He promised he'd have your back in Siberia and instead, he tried to stab it an-"

"Sam." Steve cut in. "Just...just don't." He grunted. "A...a lot of things happened in Siberia that neither of us are proud of."

Wanda shook her head. "Why do you keep defending him?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and cocked her head slightly, placing one hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you can't relate, Wanda." She called. "After all, you should know what it's like to let your emotions cloud your logic and dictate your actions. _Regrettable_ actions, I'd like to add." Her eyes were sharp.

Wanda clenched her fists, but said nothing, turning her head away.

"Listen, I know this is risky. That's why I'm sending Nat. She's the least likely out of all of us to stir anything up. But you have to stop thinking that we're the only ones who got the short end of the straw." He stressed. "Whether you all want to admit it, Tony is still our teammate. In a way, we were lucky."

"How do you figure?" Scott muttered.

Steve's brows furrowed. "We still have each other. We're still together. We still have each other's backs." He paused. "Tony...he doesn't have that. Not anymore."

It looked like Clint wanted to comment, but one well placed glare from Natasha had him shutting his mouth, obviously thinking better of it. Steve turned back towards Natasha. "She's doing this. You don't have to like it. You don't have to agree with it." He stared back at them. "But you do have to accept it. Cause we're not changing our minds."

With that, the man turned and walked out of the large room without another word. Without looking back.

It was final.

Clint stared after him before letting out a disgusted scoff. He glanced at Natasha one last time, his eyes hard and pained before he shook his head, leaving the room as well. Sam let out a small sigh as he followed him out, giving Natasha's shoulder a light pat before he left.

Scott stared after them, turning back to Natasha before letting out a small cough. He hesitantly stood up and jabbed a thumb in their direction. "I'm just gonna...yeah..." He murmured before quickly darting out of the room as well. That left just her and Wanda.

She paid little mind of the young woman as she rummaged through her own personal collection of things stashed off to teh side, fiddling with her pistol slightly before placing it back into it's holster.

"This is still a mistake."

The woman shut her eyes for just a moment before letting out a soft breath, raising herself back up as she turned to face Wanda, the girl's arms folded once again as he dark brown eyes leveled Nat a hard look.

The assassin was not phased by the look, however, as she stepped forward. "Listen, I know you ans Stark have your issues, and I get that. I'm not asking you to like him." She sighed. "But he's my friend." He eyes instantly iced over as her fists clenched. "So unless you have an actual reason for being here other than to spew out more garbage," She leaned closer, their noses almost touching. "I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your head out of my business. M'kay, kid?"

Without another word, the woman turned and walked out of the room, leaving a speechless Wanda behind.

She knew why they were against it. She couldn't really blame them. Clint and Scott had it the worst. They'd both left families behind. People they loved that they could no longer see. Whatever sense of normalcy they'd all had before this al had started had been shattered and nobody knew if it would ever be repaired.

Scott seemed to have a much different approach in dealing with his grief. Natasha noticed that the man had gotten closer with Sam and Wanda, sharing stupid stories and playing with the dck of cards he'd found in the garbage. She assumed that's just how the man was. Seeing things as half full, making what he could of the situation. The assassin couldn't say she knew him all that well yet, but she could tell he was a good man. And a good teammate.

Clint...

Clint had a much different approach to it.

He didn't hesitate in assigning his blame. Assigning someone to pay for his grief. For the loss of his family. And Stark seemed perfect to pay the bill. Natasha knew the archer and the mechanic had never been particularly close, even when they'd been on the same team. But she still remembered how Clint used to be. Joking around as he tried getting under Tony's skin. Relishing in the man's annoyance. Despite how often they butted heads, it was obvious they enjoyed the other's company.

Well...they had.

Nowadays, Clint seemed ready to maul the man's head off.

Sam...Sam didn't seem as mad as he was upset. Disappointed. But Natasha was willing to bet such feeling didn't really stem from his own pain, but from Steve's. The man was one of his best friends and it was obvious he was struggling. Sam could see it. Hell, they all could. And the man knew that Tony was the center of all that pain, all that grief. So of course, such feelings quickly led to his resentment of the billionaire. Not in the same degree as Clint, but it was still there.

Then there was Wanda.

Out of all of them, she was the youngest. The kid. The one who'd held the weakest connection to Stark before all of this had transpired. And even before then, tensions were high between her and the man. Even though she know knew the truth about the man and the weapons that had orphaned her - weapons that were being dealt under the table without his knowledge or consent - there was still a part of her that had blamed the man. And once all of this started, it seemed those tensions had now come to full light.

Natasha threw a small glance behind her at the large warehouse. Scott was laying in his corner on a bundle of dirty blankets he'd shaped into a bed, his leg propped up on a knee as he bopped his foot along to the rhythm of some nonexistent music. Sam was sorting the deck of cards for about the millionth time. Clint was wordlessly cleaning his bow, though he'd been doing it so often that the weapon now gleamed like steel, and Wanda sat above them on the catwalk, staring out one of the windows situated above them.

The assassin stared at the scene for a moment longer before lowering her head, stepping outside.

What had happened to them?

The brisk March air hit her hard as she opened the back door out of the warehouse. It didn't take her long to spot Steve. The man was standing up against the railings posted along the edge of the bayside walkway. The Hudson River shone brightly as it reflected the startling light of the sun overhead. He leaned against the metal railing, his elbows pressed down against the rusted metal as his hands hung limply over the edge.

Silently, the woman walked over, stopping right beside him. For a moment, neither person said anything. They simply continued to stare out at the bay, content with the silence that had risen around them. Across the large expanse of water, the low lying buildings of Queens stood out against the sky, shining bright flashes of the sun back into their eyes.

"I don't need to tell you what we're risking in sending you out."

Natasha didn't bother in turning her head. "I know." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man's head drop suddenly, his chin coming close to his chest as he shut his eyes, a small breath falling from his lips.

"Steve..." She called, moving closer. "It's gonna be alright."

The man shook his head softly. "Things haven't been alright since we started this shit." He muttered before glaring over at her as she opened her mouth. "I swear, if you say _language_ one more time."

Natasha turned away with a chuckle, Steve returning it with a soft smile of his own. He gazed down at the water, the soft, rippling currents lapping up against the side of the concrete walls. The man's smile slowly disappeared as he watched the small waves. "How was he?" He whispered. "Last time you..." He trailed off.

The woman glanced over at him before staring down at the water as well, her fingers tapping against the cold metal of the railings as she debated how to play things. "He...he was how you'd expect." She finally decided on. "Depressed, angry, bitter...sad." She shook her head before turning to face the super soldier. "Steve, it's...it's not good. I'm actually...a little worried." She confessed.

The man stared at her, his eyes full of the pain and regret Natasha had been seeing in them since he'd returned from Siberia. He shut his eyes and turned away, lowering his head once again. "And yet..."

He glanced back up.

"There was something else. I've seen him at his worst before. Trust me." She muttered, remembering a certain time she'd gone undercover. "But...there was something different. Last time, I was fully expecting to either find him on the floor in the corner of his lab, surrounded by empty bottles and covered in his own vomit-"

"Thanks for _that_ image."

"Or I was just waiting for him to straight up attack me on sight." She murmured. "But...it was different. Sure, he was just as bitter and frustrated as I'd expected, but it was like...it was like he was holding off for some reason." She explained.

Steve quirked a brow. "Pepper?" He asked.

Natasha shook her head. "No...no, as far as I can tell, they're still apart."

"That makes this worse." Steve grunted.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you, Steve. There was...it...it's like he was holding on to something...something else." She said. "I just don't know what it could be."

Steve's face hardened in thought as he turned his head back around, his eyes scanning the dark waters as he took in the woman's words. He glanced back over towards her as he recalled something she'd told him a few days ago.

"Didn't you mention a kid before?"

Nat glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders. "Yes, but...I don't know if that's what it is. I mean, he said the kid was just an intern."

Steve scoffed. "Well, let's not forget who we're talking about. Tony's not one to disclose what he feels or who he feels it for. Maybe this kid's more than he let him on to be." He explained.

Natasha furrowed her brows in thought. "Maybe..." She glanced back over at the man as he turned away, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he sighed tiredly. She didn't need to be a world-class spy to know the man had been skirting by these past few weeks with only a few hours of sleep each night, if he even did at all. She could tell it was starting to take a toll.

"I know this has been tough on you, Steve." She murmured softly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. His eyes scrunched tighter for a second before he opened them, keeping them locked onthe waters below. "I just...it's..." He paused, unsure of where to go.

The woman stared at him before pressing her tongue against her cheek. "I know you don't talk about Siberia. It's alright. You don't have to." She spoke softly.

Steve's hands clenched tightly around the metal railing, the soft sound of creaking filling the air as the rails bent like tinfoil underneath his grasp. Judging by the look on his face, the man didn't even realize he was doing it as he stared out over the bay. As the two sat there in the silence for a minute, Natasha wondered if he would say anything else. Finally, after a moment, the man let out a small breath as he glanced up towards the sky in exhaustion.

"...I couldn't lose him, Nat." He whispered, his voice soft and pained. "I couldn't lose Bucky. Not...not again. It's just..." He trailed off for a moment. "I never thought I'd be losing Tony in exchange."

She gently squeezed his shoulder. "You did what you could, Steve." She sighed, only for the man to pull away, glaring down at nothing. "Yeah, well it wasn't good enough! In...in protecting my friend, I was just hurting another. And now they're both..." He stopped, the words catching in his throat as he stopped, tightening his grip on the mangled metal before releasing his hands, turning away. "I just wish I could..." He didn't go on.

"I know you want to talk to him, Steve." She finally said. "But right now, I think that might do more harm than good." She explained, remembering with a wince how Tony had reacted just when hearing the man's _name_. She didn't want to think about what would happen when they came face to face. If they ever did.

Somehow, the thought that they never would was all the more painful.

Steve said nothing more as he continued to watch the small waves. Natasha knew she wouldn't get any more out of him. With a soft pat,she gave him a small smile. "I'll watch him, Steve. For the both of us." She vowed, her voice soft but determined.

The man turned to her before giving a nod. He watched as she pulled away, tightening the straps on her jacket as she began to make her way down the walkway, Stark Tower shining against the sun in the distance.

"Nat..." He called, watching as the woman turned back. Without saying anything, both people knew what was being said. _Be careful._

She stared at him for a moment longer before giving a nod of her own.

"I know."

* * *

**Wednesday - March 30, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**04:21 p.m.**

Natasha liked to consider herself a pretty calm person. It took a lot to shake her, and it took even more to actually make her feel even a fleeting glimpse of nervousness. However, underneath the piercing gaze of one Pepper Potts, she could somewhat understand why her fingers were suddenly twitching by her sides.

Rhodey and Happy didn't really make things any easier, she'd like to add.

When she'd entered the office, she'd fully been expecting to see Tony _not_ working at his desk. So when she entered to see not just one of his _slightly_ irked teammates, but all three, she couldn't help but be a bit cautious.

"Ms. Romanoff." Pepper called coolly, her eyes revealing none of the shock that had been there when the woman had first entered the room. Happy, on the other hand looked like someone had just scratched his car with their keys while Rhodey seemed to be trying to keep his face neutral. It wasn't working all that well.

"What are you doing here?" Pepper continued, either not noticing her friends' displeasure, or choosing to ignore it. Her nails tapped against the desk, the sharp sounds radiating around the room.

"Yeah, In case you haven't noticed, there are quite a few people who are pretty keen in talking to you." Happy muttered. "And uh...it ain't us." He growled, quickly sizing the woman up. He noticed the slight bulge at her side where her gun was stashed and his gaze darkened, eyes catching Rhodey's as the man obviously caught sight of it as well. He cautiously slid closer to Pepper.

Natasha took a small breath, refusing to back down. "I came for Tony."

"Mm-hmm..." Rhodey nodded, his eyes narrowed. "And uh...just what do you want with him, huh?" He growled. "Here to tie up some loose ends for you and your gang of criminals?" She couldn't remember the last time the Colonel had spoken to her with such venom.

"Rhodey-" She started, her voice calm. She hadn't been prepared to deal with this monster of an issue today.

"Don't." He snapped. "Alright, I don't need another reason to reach over there and dial up Ross, kay?" He muttered, glancing over towards the desk, where the company phone sat. Pepper's hand was already sliding closer to it. Natasha made sure to keep the woman in her sights.

"So why don't you go and actually do something good for Tony for once and get out of here? Cause God knows we don't need anymore problems, and that seems to be all that you guys bring." Rhodes gripped the arm rests of the chair he was sitting in as he stood up, his leg braces whirring softly.

Natasha couldn't help but glance down at them before meeting his gaze once more. "Problems for us to fix. Problems for _him_ to deal with, alright? You've already done enough to us."

The woman took a small step back as she glanced down at the side, a sigh falling from her lips as she hesitated in bringing up the elephant in the room. This was _not_ gonna be good. She could already tell. "Look..." She said softly. "About Leipzig, about...about your legs, you have every right to-"

Rhodes stalked closer. "I'm not talking about my legs." His voice was eerily quiet. Natasha couldn't help but listen intently. The pit in her stomach cracked open even more.

"He trusted each and every one of you And you tried to kill him."

This...this was worse.

"So excuse me If I'm not jumping up to welcome you back." He snarled as the tips of Pepper's fingers grazed the phone.

"I'm not asking you to."

They turned back towards her as she lowered her gaze. Pepper's hand paused.

"I know better than anyone just how badly we screwed up, alright?" She uttered.

"Hmph." Happy sniffed. "You sure about that? Try spending a couple hours around here, you'll see just how _badly_ you screwed up." He growled, glaring back at the redhead.

" _But-_ " She stressed. "That doesn't mean I don't want to try and fix this. I know it might not seem like it, but I care about Tony. And I hate how things turned out." She explained, hoping to alleviate some of the fears she knew they had to be feeling. "I know we messed up. I know you all were just trying to do what was right. I know...and I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I'm sorry for what's happening now."

Pepper, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation, let out a small sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. "We all are." She said softly. The other two men glanced over towards her before the anger in their faces seemed to die down a little.

Realizing she'd have to make the most of their small moment of calm, she stepped forward. "All I want to do is try to make things right. I know it'll take a while." She murmured. "I'm willing to try. And I know I have no right to ask this..." She couldn't help the small spark of hesitation that silenced her for a second before she found her voice once again. "But I'll need your help."

Happy couldn't help the scoff that fell from his mouth. "Oh, jeez. You gotta be shitting me." He muttered.

"Look, I know you don't trust me." She pushed on despite the looks she was getting. "Tony doesn't either. I can't blame you all for that. But I do know that you all want this to end just as badly as I do." Judging from the way their faces all twisted into looks of remorse, she was certain she'd hit her target. "I can't work towards that unless I have your help."

She knew it was true. Tony's circle of trusted allies was diminishing greatly and if there was even a chance that she' be able to make things work with the man, she'd need inside help. These three were her ticket in, but she couldn't do much if they started putting up a wall. Tony was already trying to do that. If they joined him in the endeavor, she could forget about her plan to make things right.

Rhodey folded his arms. "And what are we supposed to do, exactly? It's not like we can apologize _for_ you."

"No, but Tony still trusts you." She explained. "You're some of the only people that can help him now. I can only do so much."

Pepper stared at her, drinking in her words. The last thing she wanted was for Tony to get worse. Things were already pretty unsteady with the billionaire. The last thing they needed was a push in the wrong direction. Still, she couldn't help the small twinge of hope that flared at the fact that perhaps this could be a push in the _other_ direction. Maybe this was _exactly_ what they needed now.

"You're here at least." She murmured. "That's more than I can say for _some_ members of your team." Pepper growled, eyes narrowing as she thought of one particular star-spangled pain in her ass.

Natasha quirked a brow. "Do you really think I'd be a good idea to have him here?"

Pepper let out an annoyed sigh as she lowered her gaze to stare at the surface of her desk, which was littered with papers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that both Rhodey and Happy were giving her small looks. She had been in enough board meetings to know what those discreet looks meant. They were asking her what she thought. They were waiting for her word.

The woman stayed silent for a moment as she traced her fingers along the edges of the pen in her hands. "I hate seeing him like this." She finally said.

Natasha watched as Rhodey gave a slight nod at the woman's words, apparently finding more meaning in them that she had, for he turned back toward her, a new resolve showing in his face. "We all do. And considering you're one of the reasons he's like this, I'm still incredibly tempted to grab that phone."

The assassin couldn't help the way her muscles tensed slightly at that.

"But...if you're serious. If you _actually_ want to try and help him work past this..." The man trailed off for a moment before letting out a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Then we'll see what we can do." He glared back up at her. "Don't take this as an agreement. We still don't trust you. It's just a consideration."

However, the woman let a smile fall onto her face at his words. "That's all I'm asking for." She murmured softly before turning to glance at the door behind her. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but apparently the Colonel knew what she was about to say before she'd even said it.

"Down in the lab. That's usually where you'll find him nowadays."

The woman nodded softly before turning around. "Natasha."

she glanced back over her shoulder, one hand coming to rest on the frames along the doorway. Pepper stared back at her, green eyes strong and sharp as her face tensed in a hard look. "Don't hurt him again."

Natasha stared at her for a moment, before glancing around at the others in the room, seeing a similar statement reflected in all of their faces. "That's the last thing I want to do." She said softly before walking out of the room.

They stared after her for a few moments, saying nothing as they wondered whether or not they'd just made the right choice. The last thing they wanted was for one of the Rogues to get anywhere near Tony. They knew the man wasn't in the best place emotionally and that could sometimes lead to him making some pretty rash decisions. Decisions he could come to regret later.

However, they also knew that someone had to do something. Someone had to take the first step. They just weren't expecting it to be one of the Rogues, let alone Natasha. But...if there was a chance, if there was hope that the assassin could somehow put them down the road of resolve, then maybe that was a chance they'd have to take.

Happy folded his arms over his chest, quirking an eyebrow as he glanced over at the others.

"Isn't it Wednesday today?"

**. . . . .**

Natasha exited the elevator, noticing how FRIDAY's voice had been particularly short with her. Could AI's even be annoyed with you? Considering she'd been built by Tony, the assassin wasn't willing to bet against it. In fact, the billionaire had probably ordered her to be extra sassy to the Russian.

The thought had her rolling her eyes. _Well, at least he hasn't lost his sense of humor. Or his annoyance..._

As she rounded the corner of the lab, she felt herself stop short as she noticed someone sitting by one of the main work tables. Taking into mind whose lab it was she was entering, most would assume the figure was just Tony. The fact that it wasn't added a whole new level of shock to the woman's mind.

This was _not_ her day, was it?

The figure was small. So definitely not Tony. Considering he was wearing both a sweater and a jacket that were too big for him, it was difficult to really get a good read on him, but the woman was willing to bet he was incredibly skinny. He had curly brown hair that draped down over his forehead, and light hazel eyes. However, the most noticeable thing about the boy was that he was nearly as pale as the paper he was writing on, which made the dark bruise on his face stick out all the more.

For a moment, the woman could only stare at the boy, who she was willing to bet was only around thirteen, maybe fourteen. She couldn't tell what he was working on from where she was standing, but she could make out what looked like textbooks on the table as well as a raggedy backpack sitting at his feet.

The boy obviously didn't notice her as he continued to work, his brows furrowed in concentration and his nose scrunched slightly as the tip of his tongue poked through his mouth while he scribbled down on the paper, seemingly lost in his work. Natasha had to admit, the dead concentration in his features was nearly a mirror to how Tony was whenever he worked.

Of course, Tony never looked so adorable when he worked so...there was that.

She was moving closer before she could think better of it, ideas as to who the child might be speeding through her head. She liked to think that Tony wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he had an illegitimate child from her, but it was hard to ignore what was in front of her.

After all, the old Tony had been a bit more...exuberant. Especially when it came to the opposite sex.

However, as she moved closer, the pages around the teen became clearer and cleared until she could read the large print embedded on one of the plans. Her eyes widened slightly as she lifted her head back up. " _You're_ his intern?" She asked before her brain could catch up with her, a situation that almost rarely never happened.

The teen's head whipped up, eyes widening as he caught sight of the woman before him .

Okay, she was _definitely_ off her game today.


	11. Rule 5 Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5) I Will Never Eat Without Permission

For a second, all the two could do was stare at each other, neither making the smallest of movements as their gazes stayed locked onto one another like two animals baiting for one to make the first move.

The only sound in the room was the faint whirring of Stark's bots " _working"_ somewhere on the lab's upper levels, though the steady sound did little to distill the tension. Natasha was the first to snap out of the trance-like state as she blinked her shock away, taking a step forward so small, it barely even registered to her.

Nevertheless, it was enough to have the boy rearing back violently, a small yelp falling from his lips as he nearly launched off the chair, stumbling backwards as pages flew everywhere.

Natasha was used to having people react in such a way whenever she appeared, but considering the child's age, she was fully expecting the fear to quickly be replaced by starstruck wonder (which probably wasn't good considering her criminal status). After all, it wasn't many who didn't know who she was. And most kids were too young and awestruck to actually be smart enough be afraid of her like most adults.

Well, that didn't seem to be the case with this kid.

His eyes were wild and frantic as he stared at her like a mouse cowering from a prowling cat. His hands shook in front of him as his hair bounced around as his entire body seemed to quiver.

For a moment, the woman wondered if perhaps the child had heard something about her. She thought back to Tony. The only place he could have heard anything was from his supposed mentor, but as she stared at the shivering boy, it quickly became apparent that it was not the case. Tony would never tell a _child_ such things to have him react like _this._

She took a small step forward, extending her hand out hesitantly in peace. The gesture was lost on the boy as she approached. Instead, he stumbled backwards again, his back slamming against the back wall as he tripped over his own feet, pushing himself into the corner as a small, pained noise fell from his lips, his chest heaving violently as his eyes filled with a fear Natasha had only ever had the displeasure of seeing on missions.

Kill missions.

For a moment, the woman could only stare as the child literally cowered before her. A sharp pain filled her chest at the thought that the kid was actually _this_ afraid of her. A pain that she'd gotten used to feeling, gotten used to numbing down. It was easier to convince herself that the people giving her those looks deserved to be afraid, deserved what was coming to them. But seeing it come from a child...

She licked her lips as she opened her mouth, only to pause as she took notice of something by her foot.

One of the papers from the table had fallen over to her. Stealing another glance up towards the teen, she reached down, purposely making her movements as slow and visible as possible. She could practically _feel_ the boy's gaze on her.

Grabbing hold of the paper, she continued to kneel on the ground, drastically shifting her height so that her demeanor wasn't as ominous. The teen continued to stare down at her as she slowly held out the page. His eyes darted from the paper, to her hand, to her face.

She let a small smile grace her lips as she stared at the teen. The look wasn't as forced as some of the others she had to give. For a moment, it almost felt a little refreshing. She pushed down such a thought and focused back up, giving the page a slight shake. "It's okay." She said softly, her voice calm and quiet. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

The boy continued to stare at her, his eyes scanning her up and down as he seemed to size him up. She tried to ignore the small flare of unease that arose at such a fact. _She'd_ been trained to do such a thing. Why did a _child_ know how to do that?

For a moment, she wondered if the kid would simply refuse to say or do anything. God she hoped not. This would _not_ be a very good situation for Stark to walk in on. Surprisingly, she doubted freaking out his intern would get her on his good side anytime soon.

Just as she was about to drop her hand, a soft voice had her looking back up.

"Y...y-you're...you're the...the Black Widow...r-right"

It was quiet. Barely above a whisper. She heard it, nonetheless.

She gave a small shrug as she slowly stood back up, the teen's eyes never leaving her. "Most of the time." She gave a smirk, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the boy's stance.

His fingers twitched as his eyes darted back and forth between her and the door behind her. Somehow, despite his flighty behavior, she didn't get the sense that he was trying to bolt. In fact, it almost looked as if he was fearful of the door, or at least, whatever might come _through_ it. "You...y-you were friends w-with...with Mr. Stark." He murmured. "Y...y-you were...you were in Germany."

She blinked down at him, taking in his words carefully. "Yes...yes I was." She spoke calmly. How much had Stark told him about all of that? She didn't think it was really something the man would talk about much, especially not with some random intern.

But perhaps he wasn't just another random intern...

She began to receive her answer as the teen's eyes began to shift. The film of panic and fear that had been layered over his eyes began to dissolve, leaving something else in its wake. His wide-eyes stare began to harden as his eyes darkened. His breathing picked up once again as his hands began to curl.

"You're...y-you're with Captain America." He growled, his eyes burning. "I...I know what you d-did. Y-you betrayed him. You...you _hurt_ him. M-Mr. Stark..." He trailed off, his breath coming in sharp pants as he full on glared at her. "You _left_ him! H-he was your friend and...and you just _left_ him!" He snarled.

Natasha took a step back at the ferocity in the child's voice, her eyes widening at the sudden 180 in his demeanor. One second, he was a cowering, stuttering mess. And the next he was shouting at Black Widow. _The_ Black Widow! She quickly realized why his gaze continued to flicker towards the door. He wasn't _afraid_ of what might come through it. He was afraid _for_ what might come through it. He was afraid of Tony coming into the room. He was afraid of her going for Stark, not himself.

"What...what are you doing h-here anyway? You're a criminal." He growled. "Did...did you come here to hurt him again? Well, d-don't..don't even _think_ about trying it...a-alright? I...I won't let you." He clenched his fists tighter. "S-so why don't you just crawl back underneath whatever rock you're all hiding under?"

Natasha stared at the teen, his cheeks slightly flushed pink as he snapped at her. It it weren't for the fact that the boy was skinny as s twig and barely reached up past her shoulder, the threat probably would have irked her. Instead, she simply cocked a brow.

"Wow."

Definitely not just some random intern, especially if he was _that_ passionate about something that didn't even happen to him. How much _had_ Tony told him? How much had he _not_ told him? Just what kind of intern _was_ this kid?

The teen continued to glare up at her as his breathing slowly began to level out once more, his skin slowly draining of the color that had peeked through in his flickering snap of anger. As he stared at her, his blazing eyes began to calm as he blinked rapidly, his gaze lowering as his eyes flickered around the floor almost as if his brain was trying to catch up with what his mouth had been spewing.

And once it did, Natasha had to do a double take at the second 180 the teen displayed before her.

God, she was getting dizzy.

His mouth finally quivered back open as his hands began to shake, a spew of verbal barf falling past his lips. "Oh...oh, god. Oh, god, I'm...I-I'm so s-so sorry!" He panted. "I just...I didn't...I-I just yelled at the Black Widow." His eyes shone with panic as he staggered backwards once again.

"You're...y-you're gonna kill me, aren't you?" He didn't wait for her to reply as he turned away, running a shaking hand through his curls. "Yep, you're g-gonna kill me and they're n-never gonna find my body cause i mean, y-you're the _fucking_ Black Widow and-"

"Language." She didn't know why. It just seemed right.

The teen continued on as if he hadn't even heard her. "-and...and I j-just _yelled_ at you. Y-you probably decapitate people just for..for _looking_ at you wrong and I-" He swallowed, or at least he tried to. At least he didn't vomit, like Natasha was expecting him to so she considered that a win. She wondered if the kid considered it one as well. She was willing to bet he did.

His face was getting paler, if such a thing was even possible. Beads of sweat were rolling down his temple despite the fact that the AC was constantly blasting in the room and it almost looked like he was swaying. What the hell was with this kid? And why did he look like he'd just had a date with death?

He pressed his face into his hands as he groaned. "I...I'm sorry. I don't...I-I don't know what...what I was t-thinking. I just...and...I couldn't stop and...I'm just sorry. I'm I-I...I'm sorry. I'm so, s-so s..." His voice tapered off and Natasha wondered if perhaps her small non-vomiting victory would have to be receded. But instead, she watched with morbid fascination as the teen's face froze, seemingly locking up in thought as his wide, glazed eyes stared at nothing, his mouth opening and closing slightly like a gaping fish. His shaking hands twitched as his nose scrunched slightly.

"No."

The word was soft. Barely anything. But Natasha could tell there was so much more behind it.

"No... no, you know what?" He face grew hard, a steely determination entering his eyes, which seemed to clear, if only a little. "I'm...I-I'm _not_ sorry." A small, joyous smile crept onto his face for a fraction of a second at the words, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was saying, before he swallowed once more, turning to face the woman. Natasha could tell by the look in his eyes that he was still slightly unsure, an aura of unease and caution still wavering around him, but the look on his face told her that his words were serious.

"I'm _not_ sorry." He repeated. "I'm...I'm _not!_ And you wanna know why? Cause...cause you're a... _bad_ person." He growled, pointing a shaking finger in her direction. "And...and you d-deserve to get yelled at! You're...you're mean!"

Alright, it was _obvious_ he'd never done something like this before. He continued nonetheless.

"You're _mean_ , and...and you're dangerous, and you don't d-deserve to be here." He narrowed his eyes, his feet shifting slightly in a nervousness that his face didn't portray. "And I'm...I'm not gonna let you hurt Mr. Stark again." He snarled, that particular sentence seeming to add a whole new wave of confidence over him.

"I know this is a horrible idea and I'm just digging my grave deeper with every word that spews out of my stupid mouth, but I'm talking...and...and I'm obviously... _saying_...words and...and I'm just gonna keep going cause it can't get any worse than this!"

Alright, Natasha was trying real hard to keep the smirk off her face now.

"I'm not gonna stop. I... _really_ should. But I'm not. Not this time! Not when you might...I just won't! But..." He paused, a new look of unsureness marring his features as he bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck. "Could you...maybe just do me a favor, mean lady?"

God, she was so telling Steve about this. Stark too. He'd probably give the damn kid a raise.

"Can, can you like...get it over with quickly? M-maybe skip out on the torture session? He murmured, eyeing the slight bulge on her hip where her gun was concealed warily. "Cause like...that...doesn't really sound all that appealing."

Natasha stared down at the kid as he finished, his gaze locking onto his shoes as he rubbed the tip against the cold tile floor, a soft squeaking reaching their ears. He fiddled with his hands as he tried to put on a brave face, which ended up looking like a sad puppy staring up at a bear. After a moment, the woman decided to end the teen's suffering, just not in the way he'd been expecting.

"Calm down, kid. I'm not gonna kill you." She muttered as she folded her arms over her chest.

The teen blinked up at her, wide eyes flickering across her face as he wrung his hands like a wet towel. "Oh...o-okay...that's g-good...that's good."

"Mmm..." The woman hummed. "And I'm not gonna hurt Tony either." She added with a roll of her eyes.

He glanced down at his feet as he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed slightly. "I...I hope you'll forgive me i-if I'm...not all that keen on believing you." He murmured, casting his eyes up once again. Natasha resisted the urge to blow out a sigh of annoyance. She was really starting to get tired of explaining herself.

She missed the days where whenever someone annoyed her she could just kill them. Short and simple. End of story. A little messy.

"Look," She sighed. "I know things turned out pretty bad. But he's my friend. That hasn't changed, despite what he might think." She stared hard at the boy. "I just want to try and make things right with him."

The boy continued to twist his foot on the ground as his arms stayed folded. He bit his lip before stealing another glance up. "You...y-you mean that?" He asked softly, his voice quiet and curious.

"Every word."

He seemed to think for another moment longer before he uncrossed his arms, placing his hands behind his back as he continued to twist the tip of his shoe into the floor. "A-alright...then...then I _am_ sorry for yelling at you, miss." He murmured, cheeks flushing with whatever color the teen's face _did_ hold. In fact, now that she was getting another good look, he almost had a resemblance of someone who was being malnourished. That would explain the pale skin, the apparent weakness and even the abnormally small body.

Of course, she was probably just overreacting. After all, Tony had told her this was Richard Parker's son, a man who was known for his money and his good name. So the idea of him having a son who was malnourished and underfed? It was practically ridiculous.

She stole another glance at the kid, watching as he swayed slightly before catching himself, the movement barely even noticeable has she not been staring straight at him.

She narrowed her eyes. _Then again...I'm quite used to having ridiculous take a whole new meaning around me._ She thought to herself.

"T-That was rude of me." The boy continued, refusing to meet her gaze all of a sudden. "Granted, you k-kind of deserved it." He stole a frantic stare up before letting out a nervous cough behind his hand. "S...still sorry." He whispered.

Natasha couldn't keep the humored smirk off of her face any longer. "It's alright, kid. I _did_ kinda deserve it." She chuckled before taking a step closer, extending out her hand. "I'm Natasha."

She expected the gesture to be returned quickly, but the teen simply stared at the outstretched hand with a nervous eye as he bit his lip and curled his arms around himself, Natasha quickly making a note of said action. _Alright...no touching. Got it._ She muttered to herself.

"P-Peter..." He responded after a second.

"Parker. Yeah, Tony told me about you."

Peter quickly seemed to take interest, tilting his head slightly. "R-really?" He asked, the slight lift to his voice saying he hadn't expected such a thing. "W-what'd...what'd he say?"

"Said you were a smart little thing." She raised a brow. "Though I didn't know he literally meant _'little'_. How old are you anyway?" She asked.

Peter glanced back towards the table where he'd first been working before turning back to her. "Fourteen." He answered, watching her face twitch in what he could only assume to be her version of surprise. "Um...is that... _all_ he told you about me?" He asked, trying not to display the nervousness he was feeling inside on his face.

Natasha was quick to pick up on it anyway. "Yeah...why? Is there something else?" She asked, more teasing than anything else, though it was a valid question.

However, Peter didn't seemed inclined to share as he said nothing, turning away as he carefully walked past the woman and made his way over towards the table from before. He tried not to tense up his muscles at the fact that he no longer had the dangerous woman in his line of sight as he stooped down onto his knees to pick up the scattered papers.

He also tried to ignore the fact that his hand was shaking as he reached for the papers. Though, to be honest, he couldn't be too sure that it was all just because of his nerves. The small bout of dizziness that rocked him as he reached for a particularly far page had his suspicions all but confirmed.

He reached for another page, only for someone else to grab it first. He stole a small glance up and gazed at Natasha as she held out the page to him. A small flash of deja vu washed over him before he pushed it down, tentatively taking the page from her hand as he stood up once more.

Either Natasha didn't see the way his body staggered as he rose back up, or she chose to not say anything about it. He was willing to bet on the latter. Shakily taking a seat on the stool by the table once again, the teen placed the pages down and caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the metal table.

He tried not to wince at the sight. His skin was nearly the same shade as the papers he'd just picked up and his eyes were dark and dull, matching the bags underneath them. His hair was a bit messy as large curls drooped down against his forehead, though they didn't do much in hiding the large bruise that still took up nearly half his face. It was hard not to notice the fact that the bruise hadn't started to fade yet, which was strange considering with his healing it might have at least shrunken down. But instead, it was the same dark purple as before.

Peter let out a small sigh as he turned away from the image. If there were any silver linings in that moment, it was that his head was at least opting to stay attached to his body, which was a welcomed departure from the pain of that morning. The migraine pills that Michelle had given him were strong, even for him and his stupid-fast metabolism. So while they weren't as effective as they would have been for a normal person, they were at least better than the run-of-the-mill pain killers that did all but nothing for him.

The girl had given him more at lunch, after nearly shoving a granola bar into his hand. His stomach had churned painfully at the thought of eating it, but one look from MJ had him forcing it down. It was better than the sandwich she'd wanted him to eat at first. The granola bar was their version of a compromise.

Now that he thought about it, Michelle and her overbearing, forceful attitude were probably the only reason the boy hadn't collapsed sometime earlier in the day. Of course, now that a couple more hours had passed, Peter was beginning to feel the effects of his hunger once again.

He glanced up and noticed that Natasha was now sitting across from him, staring intently. He felt a chill run down his spine at her gaze. It wasn't harsh, just piercing. Observant.

He didn't like that.

She seemed to notice his discomfort as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. "So how'd a kid like you cross paths with someone like Tony Stark?"

Peter blinked at her before lowering his gaze once more, grabbing his pencil as he gently poked the tip with his finger. "Mr. Stark w-was really interested in...in my application. S-said I looked promising. He...uh...he t-took an interest in me, I guess. I...I don't ask too many questions. I'm l-lucky enough to just _be_ here. I...I don't wanna ruin it by...you know...being _myself_."

He didn't meet her gaze again as he blatantly ducked his head, eyes drilling into the paper as the pencil began to scribble notes along the lines. Natasha watched him, saying nothing as she reran the words he'd spoken over in her head. One of the main things she'd taken to notice when he spoke was his stutter. There were times where it seemed like an involuntary thing, something he couldn't control, and other times where it seemed more stress related.

She tilted her head quizzically. She'd have to study him more to find out.

She gazed down at the plans that were scattered around him, her eyes reading over the title once again. "Arc reactor, huh?" She echoed, Peter stealing a small glance up. "Guess you are pretty smart."

She expected him to blush or thank her. Instead he gave a small shrug of his shoulders, eyes downcast as he continued to write, propping one cheek up with his fist. "Mr. Stark thinks so I guess. I...I don't know." He murmured, his voice quiet.

She narrowed her eyes, leaning closer. "I'd assume so, kid. He doesn't let just anybody mess around with his work. And this is basically his pride and joy next to his oh so precious suits." She said with a roll of her eyes. Peter gave a small smile at that, Natasha noting it as the first time he'd seemed happy, in a sense. She continued. "Give yourself a little credit. I'd say he's taken a liking to you."

Peter gazed at her for a moment longer before turning back down, remaining silent. Though the woman was able to pick up on the smallest trace of another grin.

They said nothing for a while, the silence enveloping the pair in a comfortable embrace as Natasha simply watched Peter write, sometimes taking small glances around the lab. Finally, after a few minutes of Peter stealing small stares up (which Natasha noted were painfully obvious), he finally decided to speak.

"Umm...Miss Romanoff, M'am?" He murmured.

"Natasha."

"Right." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Um...I d-don't mean to be rude or anything and y-you definitely don't have to answer if you don't want to but...but...um...what a-are you doing here? I don't want to offend you but y-you're kinda...well not kinda...a...um...wanted criminal." He finished with a wince as he ducked his head slightly, almost as if he expected her to reach over and slug him in the face.

She stared at him for a moment, face cool as she glanced towards the door. "I just wanted to see a friend."

"I thought Captain America was your friend."

She blinked in mild surprise at the new tone of voice, the teen almost seeming annoyed as he fiddled with his pencil once more. She gave a small smirk as she leaned forward, propping an arm up on her knee.

"Sensing you don't head up the Captain America fan club at school, huh?"

He didn't smile. "All he did was run off and cower after trying to kill my idol of ten years." He scoffed and glared down at the floor. "Why wouldn't I adore him?"

Natasha let out a sigh as she turned away. "Look, kid. Things were-"

"Complicated. Yeah that's what everyone keeps telling me." He muttered, eyes narrowed as he glared at the papers, clenching the pencil tighter. "I know what that means. Just means _'keep your nose out of our shit, kid. It doesn't concern you'._ I know how to read between the lines." He stared back up at her. "That's where you find all the best secrets."

The woman blinked. _The stuttered was gone._ "Or the worst ones." She finished, the teen glancing at her before giving a small dejected shrug.

She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek in thought before leaning back once more. So...what kind of secret is that shiner on your face, if it's a secret at all."

Peter stared at her for a second, his eyes shining with something she couldn't trace before it was gone. "Not much of a secret that I'm...I'm probably the clumsiest person on the p-planet. I just had a l-little accident in the kitchen a few days ago. It'll...it'll be gone in a couple days, tops."

 _It was back_. Hmm...strange.

He also hadn't mentioned why he looked two shades away from being legally classified as a walking cadaver. However, taking into consideration the uncomfortable aura that was already surrounding the teen, she decided that perhaps it wouldn't be the best idea to stress him out even more.

The last thing she needed was Stark walking in on her with an unconscious teenager.

Instead, the woman decided to move the conversation elsewhere. She ran her fingers along the edges of one of the textbooks that had been left on the table. Peter watched her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything.

"Spanish homework, huh?" She murmured absentmindedly, though Peter still picked up on it. "Jesus, you really are still just a baby."

The teen's cheeks instantly flushed as he scrunched his nose and glared at her. Whatever effect he wanted it to have, Natasha was willing to say that the opposite was true. He literally looked like a pouting toddler. "I'm not a baby." He muttered.

She couldn't help but smirk. "Cranky from all the homework they're giving you? I'd assume so. It must take away from your nap time." She chuckled. Peter grunted in annoyance, though the woman could detect the hint of a smile as he rolled his eyes.

"Not really. Spanish i-is kinda the least of my worries. It only took me like ten minutes to finish."

Natasha quirked a brow. "Too boring for a baby genius like yourself, huh?"

Peter didn't seem to react too much to the nickname as he let out a tired sigh, running his fingers against his eyes. "It's just...it's so easy. And I know this is a language that c-comes up a lot more often in life than...I don't know...than Latin or something, but at least that would be a challenge. This is..." He gestured towards the textbook. "- _painfully_ easy." He sighed.

"Besides, it was either this or ASL but I'm almost ninety percent sure the ASL teacher...kinda...hates my guts." He muttered.

"Why?"

"Does she even need a reason?" He rolled his eyes. "I think it's cause I a-accidently dropped my math textbook on her toe one time in the hallway." He grimaced. "I didn't n-need to know sign language to tell what she was saying to me after that." He blushed slightly and gave a small shudder.

Natasha chuckled as the teen threw her a small, nervous grin. She watched as he turned back towards the plans for the arc reactor, pencil moving quickly as he jotted down whatever nerd stuff he and Tony did in here.

As she stared, she couldn't help but finally come to realize what Tony had meant all those days ago. "You really _are_ weird, kid." She murmured absentmindedly.

Peter didn't even look up. "I'm not even gonna ask whether it's a good weird or a bad weird. N-nobody can ever seem to give me a straight answer so I'm just gonna assume it's somewhere in the middle."

Her words were true. The kid _was_ strange. At first glance, he seems like your average, nerdy teenager. Pale, skinny, lanky, fidgety. But even there, he wasn't normal. It almost seemed as though he was _too_ nervous. Like he was expecting something bad to already happen. He stuttered constantly, he didn't make much eye contact and he didn't seem to like to be touched. All three factors weren't good signs in themselves. But put all three together and you have reason to be concerned.

But what shocked her even more was how fast all of that could change. One second he was a stumbling, blubbering mess. And the next he looked like he was two second away from calling her a bitch. He'd been angry, mad, determined, confident. Nothing like the teenager she'd seen at first.

And it all seemed to stem from one thing.

Tony.

The second the teen realized who she was, what she could do, what she _had_ done, he'd dropped all nerves and insecurities. It was so quick that she'd almost gotten a sense of whiplash from it. But the boy had held fast, strong-willed and sharp tongued.

And it was all to defend Stark. Not himself. Whenever it turned on himself, he became that same stuttering, nervous wreck of a kid he looked like. But the second Tony came into play, it was like he was an entirely different person altogether.

She couldn't say it didn't fascinate her.

She stared at the teen.

This _definitely_ deserved further study.

"Well...Spanish might not give you much of a challenge, but most people find Russian to be a bit more complicated."

Peter raised a brow. "Huh?"

"Ты очень странный ребенок, но я признаю, что ты меня интригуешь." ( _You are a very odd child, but I'll admit you intrigue me)._

The teen's eyes quickly widened as he leaned closer. "Whoa...you speak Russian?" He gaped before shaking his head. "Pshh...what am I saying? Of course y-you speak Russian. You can probably s-speak whatever language you want."

She smirked. "Well I don't know about that, but my Russian is pretty good if I do say so myself. Or course, I've never tried teaching it before." She murmured with a mischievous glint in her eye, throwing the teen a small wink.

Peter gaped at her, blinking rapidly. "You'd...you w-wanna teach me Russian?"

The woman shrugged. "Why not?"

The teen's eyes lit up for a moment as he opened his mouth only to pause as he quickly reigned himself back in, lowering his gaze as he tapped his pencil against the paper. "I..I don't...you...y-you don't have to do that." He murmured quietly.

Natasha gave him a hard stare at the sudden shift in demeanor before folding her arms over her chest. "Trust me, kid. I don't do anything I don't wanna do. This, on the other hand, might be fun." She added with a shrug. "Besides, I'll never pass up the opportunity to make someone look like a fool. Usually, it's in the field, but I'll take watching you trip over your own tongue, too."

Peter perked up a little at that, giving a small sigh as he threw the woman an exasperated look. "Great...I already do that in my own language. Now I'll get to sound like an idiot in _two_ languages."

Natasha smirked as Peter smiled back. "That's the plan, kid."

* * *

**Wednesday - March 30, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Private Labs 01**

**04:48 p.m.**

Tony couldn't help but glance over towards his side as he walked, staring out the large windows that made up most of the wall in the long hallway. He cocked a brow and glanced down at the street below as he did a few calculations in his head.

"A fall from this height _has_ to be enough to kill me, right?" He muttered to himself before craning his neck even further, a sigh spilling from his lips. "Nah...I'm not lucky enough for that." He growled before continuing to walk down the hallway.

Suicidal thoughts such as those were usually what followed up a little chat with Ross. Of course, the suicide came _after_ he murdered Ross.

Kill Ross. Suicide Later. Yep, that was the plan.

The man sighed once more and ran a hand down his face. He'd just had to endure the idiotic man blabber on for the last half hour and now he wanted nothing more than to drown himself in all the alcohol they had in the goddamn building. No, scratch that. In all of New York City.

That _had_ to be enough to kill him.

 _I swear, I think he's trying to drive me insane_. He muttered to himself as he began to descend the few steps that led down to his lab. Of course, Ross had been up his ass about the Falcon sighting in the city, asking him why he wasn't doing anything about the situation. Tony's answer had been short and simple. " _Cause I don't care._ "

And he didn't. He couldn't care less about what those idiots were up to. Just as long as they stayed as far away from him as possible. They could have been blowing up Nigeria or some other stupid shit like that. They liked to cause mass destruction wherever they went, right? Yep, sounded perfect for them. A nice little pastime.

He groaned as he felt the beginnings of a migraine working their way up his brain as he walked closer to the lab doors. He'd left Peter inside with strict instructions to finish up his homework and then to move on to working on schematics for the arc reactor. The teen had only given a brief complaint about how ridiculous his homework was, to which Tony responded with " _everything we do in this lab is ridiculous. But at least_ that _helps you boost the askew and rigged American Educational System so do it."_

He knew the teen would. There were times when Peter reminded the billionaire of an overexcited police puppy. Ready to follow orders and nothing else. Almost like he'd been programmed that way. It was a bit scary sometimes. Hell, if Tony told him to jump off the building, he was frighteningly positive the kid would only give mild hesitation to the action before strapping on a pair of skydiving goggles.

Tony perhaps wasn't as alert and attentive as he could have been in that moment, his exhaustion probably a tangible thing in his face alone. However, as he moved closer towards the lab door, he couldn't help the small twinge in his chest that longed to be in there with Peter, if only to try and soak up some of that overexcited puppy energy.

God knew he needed a lot of that nowadays.

As he thought back to the teen, Tony couldn't help but think back to how... _off_ the boy seemed today. Oh, he tried to hide it, of course. But something strange about the teen that Tony had begun to pick up on was that he was a great liar. Like...incredible.

Unless, of course, he was trying to pull one over on Tony. Then it was like he'd literally been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; stutter, shifty eyes, sweaty hands, the whole shebang. The billionaire had no explanation for it. He would ask Peter if he wasn't pretty positive it would only make the boy panic.

It seemed a lot of things did that whenever he was like this. _'This'_ being pale, jumpy and downright miserable-looking. His skin was pale and his eyes were dull and the massive bruise on his face had had Tony's hand gripping his screwdriver a little tighter than necessary. Of course, before he'd had the chance to ask the teen about it, he'd been dragged away by a phone call from Secretary Douchebag.

He was almost afraid to hear the kid's answer, though.

However, as he moved closer towards the door, he began to pick up on the sound of voices. One of them he instantly recognized as Peter's, the teen's high-pitched, quiet tone being something he could probably pick out of a busy crowd. The other was...was...

_Fucking shit-fuck_

Quickly rounding the corner, his hand lingered on the frame of the door as he bolted into the room, eyes widening at the sight.

Peter was sitting where he'd last left him, his elbows propped up on the table as he stared down at a piece of paper in front of him. However, it was not the piece of paper he'd started with half an hour ago. And he certainly wasn't alone anymore.

No, instead the page seemed to have a bunch of different symbols on it, other letters written in smaller print underneath those. Natasha sat next to him, her finger pointing towards one of the symbols as she glanced at the teen. They obviously hadn't noticed him yet, for they were still speaking... _Russian?_

_What in the actual shit?_

For a brief moment, the billionaire should have been able to recognize the peaceful aura in the air of the lab. He should have noticed the fact that Peter didn't look worried or stressed at having the woman near him. He should have paused to wonder.

But all he could see was The Black Widow with Peter Parker. His intern. And all he _could_ recognize was the sickening twist in his gut - like a knife being twisted along his ribs - at the sight of the assassin sitting within even ten feet of the teen.

Nope. This was _not_ happening.

"Uhh...I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He called pointedly as he folded his arms over his chest, pushing down the strange urge to call his armor. This hadn't happened a few days ago. What _was_ this? Why was this happening now?

Both parties looked up at the same time, the atmosphere i the room instantly darkening. Well, at least for Tony and Natasha. Peter, however, seemed blissfully unaware as he gave the man a large grin. Though the innocent look as enough to answer the man's previous questions.

At least Natasha had the decency to look uneasy.

"Mr. Stark!" The teen called happily. "Hey, I met your friend. She's super cool, you know. She's teaching me Russian and it's really hard but she says I'm doing good so I think it's going okay!" He beamed, not noticing Natasha's strange look. Or the fact that Tony was staring at him like he'd just grown another head. "Oh and also, how come you didn't tell me you spoke Italian? That's super cool, too." He rambled, tilting his head.

Natasha switched her gaze from the bubbling teen to the frothing man across the room. Tony gave a small shake of his head. "Yeah...yeah, that's great kid. Um...here's a better question, though. Uh...what the hell do you think you're doing with _her_?" He asked, his voice hiding none of his anger as he glared at the spy.

She didn't look too phased. That made him angrier.

On Peter, however, his shift was instantaneous. Any and all color that had been coming back to his face quickly drained away as he gave the man a wide-eyed stare, flickering it between him and the woman beside him as he slowly stood up. "I...um...I just...d-did..." His stutter was back. With a vengeance. "Did you n-not know...s-she was...here?" The words were small.

Tony gave him a _well-duh_ look.

Peter quickly staggered away from Natasha as Tony moved closer. "Oh, god...oh, god...I...I-I...I'm so...so sorry, Mr. Stark. I...I thought that...t-that you...you knew she was here or that...t-that you at least k-knew I w...was talking to...to her and I..." His hands were shaking now. Not a good sign.

"I didn't mean to...i just...I-I...wasn't...I wasn't trying to...to side with...and I...I-I..." He was starting to pant. That was worse.

The second Peter started to struggle in getting the next word out, Tony stepped forward, trying to ignore how Peter flinched back at his sudden movement. "Whoa, whoa." He called loudly. "You need to start breathing right now, kid. It's not your ass I'm gonna kick out of the building, anyway." He muttered, glancing at Natasha, who was rising to her feet, inquisitive eyes locking onto Peter's quivering form.

He didn't like that at _all_.

"Come here, would you?" He muttered, grasping Peter's forearm as he yanked the kid forward, a small yelp of surprise falling from the teen's lips as Tony dragged him to stand behind him, blocking the boy from Natasha's view.

The assassin couldn't help but roll her eyes at the display. "Oh, would you relax, Stark? I didn't touch your little intern." She muttered, folding her arms. The man glared back at her. "You. You stay out of this, alright? I'll get with you in a second right after I make sure you didn't inject this idiot with whatever shit you have stored up your sleeve. Hey!" He called to Peter, snapping his fingers in front of his face. The teen flinched back, more out of shock than anything else. "Can you taste color yet?"

"What?"

"Don't deflect. Answer the question."

Natasha groaned as she stepped closer. "Tony, come on. You're overreacting. I didn't hurt him. We were just talking." She muttered with a glare.

Tony pointed a finger at her as he opened his mouth to spit something else out, only to pause as Peter latched a small hand onto the sleeve of his jacket. He glanced down, throwing the teen a quizzical look. "She's telling the t-truth, Mr. Stark." He stammered out, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to speak at the moment. "She didn't do anything. S-she's really nice."

That had Tony freezing. He glanced at Natasha before turning back to the kid. "Nice? What...I... _Nice?_ Geez, you really gave him the strong stuff didn't you?" He muttered over his shoulder as he grabbed the teen's chin, turning his head away to inspect his neck. "Alright, where did she inject you?" He growled, only for Peter to push his hand away, unable to keep the small giggle from leaving his mouth. "I'm being serious, Mr. Stark." He called, glancing back at the woman with a small smile.

"She asked me about my homework, the internship and I mean it about the Russian. She really _is_ teaching me." He stared up at the man. "It's pretty cool."

Tony stared down at him, eyes hard as he searched the teen's face. After a second, he turned around to glance at Natasha, who - _what the hell-_ was actually smirking at him? That little-

"Kid, do me a favor and head up to the second level. I need you to grab something for me."

Peter blinked up at him for a moment. "Um...okay? What do you need me to get?"

Tony pushed him towards the stairs. "I don't know. Something. Anything. Just make sure it takes you a long time to find." He muttered as Peter raised a brow, but said nothing.

The billionaire turned back to Natasha as Peter began to climb up the stairs. Tony noticed out of the corner of his eye as Peter stumbled on the stairs, a small sigh falling from the older man's mouth as he rubbed his fingers into his eyes. "This kid..." He muttered, Natasha giving a small chuckle. "He is...uh...something. I'll give him that."

"Yeah, about that," Tony muttered stepping closer. "Didn't I specifically tell you to stay the hell away from him?" He growled, narrowing his eyes. Natasha's face continued to hold an aura of humor as she smirked. "No. you told me to stay away from _Spider-Man._ You said nothing about your baby intern."

Tony was about to retort that it was the same thing before he realized what it entailed, quickly stopping himself as he gave her a disgruntled look, huffing in annoyance as he rolled his eyes. "Well I'd assume you'd be courteous enough to include _anybody_ who's in the middle of this little skirmish of ours." He scoffed, refusing to show the relief he felt inside at the fact that Peter was now far away from her.

Natasha blew out a small breath from the corners of her mouth as she glanced up at the elevated floor of the second level, eyes narrowing in though for a moment before she turned back to Tony, who was straightening out the papers on the desk, glancing at the page with the Russian alphabet hastily scribbled on it, rolling his eyes slightly.

"What's wrong with him, Tony?"

The billionaire sharply turned to look at her, eyes searching her face for a moment before his lip curled and his eyes filled with something the woman couldn't seem to recognize. It was anger, sure. But there was something deeper there.

"What do you...what the hell do you mean? There's nothing _wrong_ with him." He nearly spat the words as he stalked closer.

Natasha raised up her hands in a sign of submission. "You know I didn't mean it like that, Tony." She spoke calmly, hoping to appease the fuming man. "But he...the way he acts...that's not normal." She stressed.

"What do you mean?" Tony muttered in annoyance, though Natasha could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew what she meant.

"I mean, you don't become like that, reclusive, jumpy, fidgety... _scared_...unless something caused it." She explained. "And not many things that I can think of in a teenager's life should be able to do something like that." She stepped closer, Tony lifting his gaze to meet hers. "What happened?"

The billionaire said nothing for a moment before his eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. "I don't have to tell you shit." He all but growled at her.

The woman let out a small sigh as she leaned back, turning away as she ran a hand through her hair. She stared down at the floor as she leaned up against the metal table, arms crossing over her chest. "Well whatever it was, he didn't deserve it."

Tony glanced up in surprise.

The woman stared back at him, her gaze never wavering. "He's a good kid. A bit nervous at times, but..." She gave a small smile, a genuine smile. "He's...he's good." She gave a small smirk. "He seems to have taken a liking to you too. Nearly bit my head off the second he assumed I was here to hurt you."

Tony's eyes widened slightly. "What?"

The woman nodded. "Mm-hmm. In fact, I think his exact words were ' _I'm a mean lady'."_

His eyes seemed to double in size at that. "No he did _not_." He breathed, unable to keep the smirk off his face. "FRIDAY?" He called, glancing up at the ceiling.

" _I can confirm that Ms. Romanoff's words are correct. In fact, I even took the liberty of recording the entire affair."_

Natasha cocked a brow as she glared up at the ceiling. "Why?"

_"No particular reason."_

The woman scoffed. "Yeah, right." She muttered, almost sure it was because she'd been getting her ass handed to her by a fourteen-year-old punk. Yep, it was official. FRIDAY definitely hated her guts at the moment. Great, another bridge she'd have to rebuild.

Tony watched the assassin glare at his AI for a moment longer before turning away with a deep sigh. He knew Natasha was one of the last people he really wanted to talk to, especially about stuff like this. But he couldn't stop a small part of his mind from wanting to disclose all he knew to her. Lord knew the assassin had to have some good advise on what to do.

Nevertheless, confessing all of it would mean trusting her, at least on some level . Trusting her with Peter.

He couldn't do that. Not...not with _him_. Not with the kid. He couldn't risk her hurting him.

He stared down at the ground, his gaze cold. "It's not what happened." He said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It's what's _happening_."

Natasha stared at him, drinking in his words carefully. "Does this have anything to do with why it looks like someone smashed a grapefruit in his face?" She muttered, Tony merely sparing her a small glance before turning away again. He said nothing.

His silence was answer enough.

She gave a small nod of her head, realizing that was all the information she was gonna get. She walked over, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. The man didn't look up, but he didn't pull away either. She considered it a small win. "I'm sticking around, Tony. Whether you want me to or not. Cause I don't care what's happening with the others, with Ross, with...hell, with all of this." She gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "You can't stop me from caring about you."

The man said nothing for a moment before giving a small huff of amusement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Wanna bet?"

She gave his arm a small pat as she moved away, walking towards the lab exit. As she neared the door, she placed one hand on the frame and paused. It was obvious in her stiff posture that she was hesitating with something, which was shocking enough. She _never_ hesitated. Nevertheless, she stilled for a moment longer before glancing over her shoulder.

"Ask him whether or not he's eaten anything today."

The billionaire turned to her, eyebrow raised. "What? What does that-"

"Just do it, Tony." The woman said, her voice hard. Tony fully turned around at that. Where was this coming from? She sighed and turned away for a second. "I...I just have...a feeling, is all." She murmured. "Maybe it's nothing. Just...it can't hurt to check."

With that, she walked through the door, disappearing from sight. Tony stared after her for a moment before his gaze returned to the floor, his brow furrowed in thought. He stayed like that for a while before he heard footsteps approaching. He lifted his head, watching as Peter hesitantly walked down the stairs, a white knuckle grip on the railing. In his other hand, there was a small, rusted wrench.

The teen reached the bottom step with a loud exhale, eyes shutting in exhaustion. "Okay..." he panted. "I g-got...something? I got something." He murmured, holding up the little wrench for the older man to see.

Tony plucked it out of the teen's hands, inspecting it for a second. "Oh, I still have this thing? I meant to throw it out like two weeks ago. It's super old." He muttered.

Peter stared at him for a moment before dropping his head, his chin nearly hitting his chest. "Great. That's...t-that's great..." He said, Tony noting how out of breath the boy sounded. He quirked a brow at that. What, had he _run_ around the lab or something?

"You good, kid?" He asked, walking closer.

Peter waved him off, Tony halting in his stride. "Yeah...yeah, I'm good. Just..." He sucked in another shaky breath. "God, that was a l-lot of walking, y-you know...?" He tried to give a small smile, but it ended up resembling more of a grimace.

Tony noted that his face had grown another shade paler, if such a thing were even possible. Quickly trying to convince himself that it was merely a trick of the light, Tony glanced behind him at the doorway. "Kid, could you do me a favor and maybe not tell your dad that I let you fraternize with a wanted war criminal?"

Peter huffed. "Yeah, don't worry. He won't be hearing about this anytime soon."

"Excellent."

The teen took a step away from the stairs, but quickly stumbled. Tony moved forward, only to watch as Peter grasped onto the railing as tightly as possible, face scrunching up in pain for a second before he quickly righted himself.

"Kid..." The man said warily. "I really think you should sit down for a second." He slowly inched closer, hands creeping up as he watched the teen intently. Peter gave a small shake of his head as he opened his mouth, only for him to suck in another breath. "I'm...I-I'm fine, Mr. Stark. R-really." He murmured as he tried once again to step forward.

This time, he couldn't catch himself as his knees buckled all of a sudden, a small yelp falling from his lips as he toppled forward. "Hey!" Tony shouted, quickly shooting forward right as the teen collapsed against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around his too-tiny waist as the billionaire tried to steady him.

Peter grunted as he scrunched his eyes tightly. "D-damn it." He muttered, the words muffled against Tony's jacket. A..alright. So...so I'm a little s-south of _fine_ , but we're just g-gonna pretend that this d-didn't happen." He sighed, mostly to himself than to anyone else. He lifted his gaze and Tony was sure that if his face had any color to it whatsoever, he would be blushing. "S-sorry." He murmured, quickly looking away.

"God, kid." Tony muttered as he slowly began to lower the boy to the floor. Peter dropped to his knees, panting as if the small movement had zapped away all of his remaining strength as he flipped himself over so that he was sitting on his bottom, one of his arms propped straight against the ground while the other lay limp in his lap. His head was tilted back as he blinked rapidly.

Tony stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly parted in shock. The boy barely even seemed phased by the fact that he'd nearly face-planted on his frikkin floor! Quickly shaking his head, the man cautiously lowered himself down, crouching in front of the teen as he rested one arm on his knee. "What the hell was that, Peter?" He asked, his voice tense.

The kid stole a quick glance his way before turning away. "Nothing. N-nothing, I just got a little dizzy, is all. I...I might not have...gotten much sleep last night." He tried to chuckle, but the noise died in his throat as he caught sight of the older man's expression.

Tony was staring straight at him, not even trying to hide such a fact. His eyes were hard as he flickered around the teen's figure, seeming to drink in every detail before he turned away with an aggravated sigh. "God I hate it when she's right." He muttered to himself before turning back to Peter. "Have you eaten today?" He asked, though he was certain of the answer already.

Peter stared back at him, eyes wide as his mouth parted slightly, only for no words to come out. Tony huffed as he narrowed his eyes. "Yesterday?"

"I...umm..."

"The day before?" He sounded angry. Peter's fingers twitched.

"I think...I h-had an...apple?"

Tony shook his head. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, kid." He growled. "Are you insane? I...I think you're starting to go insane. Cause only someone who's mentally _absent_ could do something so _monumentally_ stupid." He snapped.

Peter said nothing. Tony took it as an invitation to continue.

"Going three days without a proper meal is enough to worry even a _normal_ human. But you? With your freaky metabolism? It's downright deadly." He leaned closer. "Were you just gonna try and ignore all of this?" He asked, eyes narrowed. "Wait until you keeled over and couldn't get back up again? Cause judging from the look of you, it would have only taken a few more hours, at least." he growled.

Peter flinched back as he turned his head away, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth. No words came out. The teen squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to force the words to come out, but his tongue seemed to be tripping over itself.

Tony's hardened eyes remained on the teen's form, pausing as they stopped on the dark bruise, which looked even worse now that the teen's skin held almost no color. Instantly, the fire in his eyes died down as a sickening jolt of realization shot through his stomach, making bile rise up on his throat.

He swallowed and looked away, eyes lifting towards the ceiling for a minute before he gazed back down at the teen. "How'd you hurt your eye?" He asked, his tone dark and foreboding.

Peter glanced back up at him, eyes wary. He'd received that question more times than he could count that day. And with each question, he always had the same answer. It was like reflex. The same with all of his lies. Always at the tip of his tongue. Spoken cleanly and fluently. Perfectly crafted. Nobody could ever see through it.

So...why couldn't he speak?

He stared at the man as he tried to find the words, his fingers twitching once more. "I...I-I...was...w-was..." He cleared his throat, his hands shaking. "I was m-making...dinner-"

"The dinner you didn't eat." Tony muttered as he raised a brow.

"umm...and...I...I-I slipped on s-some water. H-it my head against t-the...the side of the...counter."

God, not even a four-year-old would have believed that.

Peter ducked his head as he waited for the older an to call him out on it, to chew him up and grind him into nothing for the lie.

The billionaire said nothing as he continued to stare at the boy, taking in yet another example of the kid's inability to lie to him. He honestly didn't know what he'd been expecting. It wasn't as if the teen was actually going to tell him what had really happened, not if it was what Tony assumed it was. He'd be lying if he said hearing the boy lie to him didn't make him just a little frustrated, but the small twinge in the back of his mind continued to remind him that this was what he'd have to expect from him.

At least until he started to earn his trust.

"Okay."

Peter snapped his eyes open and whipped his head up, which was a mistake as a wave of dizziness smashed into him. Tony seemed to notice this as he placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "If you say so, kid." The man continued, though it almost looked as if the words pained him.

Peter said nothing as he lowered his gaze. Tony stared down at him, biting his cheek in thought as he let out a small groan. This just wasn't his day, was it. He glanced over towards the door. First things first, he had to get some food into the baby idiot at his feet. The first thing that popped into his mind was the food court downstairs, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his head.

Considering how loopy and out of it the teen was starting to get, he knew the last thing they needed was to bring him somewhere loud and noisy with tons of different people and mingling smells. Even _he_ feared getting some sense of sensory overload in that god forsaken place, let alone a kid with literal super senses.

So, without the cafeteria, that only left one option. Tony couldn't help but grimace at the thought, but one last glance at the sad-looking mess of a teen at his feet was enough to have him suck it up. Besides, it wasn't like anybody would be up there anyway.

"Alright, kid. Let's go do something _smart_ for once and get some food in you."

Peter blinked up at him before biting his lip. "You don't h-"

"Kid, if you say ' _I don't have to_ ' one more time, I'm literally going to force-feed you baby food." He muttered, leaning closer. "And I'll make the airplane noises."

Peter's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

The man grinned. "I'll even have FRIDAY record it."

The teen stared at him, mouth agape for a moment before he finally relented with a sigh. "Can you stand?" The billionaire asked as he rose up to his feet. Peter blinked in thought before he tried to push himself up, only to wince as a horde of black dots lashed at the corners of his eyes.

"Yep, gonna take that as a hell no." Tony muttered as he grabbed Peter's arms, hauling the boy to his feet before wrapping a securing arm around his waist, making sure the teen didn't have a repeat act of falling on his face.

Peter tensed at the touch, but said nothing as Tony led him out of the lab and over towards the elevator. Even as they stepped inside and began their ascent, Tony didn't remove his arm. Peter still didn't say anything.

The teen stole a small glance up at the man, but noticed that his gaze was elsewhere. He lowered his head as he felt the strong, steadying grasp of the man's grip around him. He could feel the usual shiver of uncomfortableness running down his spine at the touch, but to the teen's surprise, he didn't pull away.

Peter had grown used to the fact that any and all forms of physical contact were red flags for him. He knew this, his friends knew this. At most, he'd get a high-five from Ned or a small pat from MJ. On really bad days, he'd even go as far as to accept hugs from certain _trusted_ people. Of course, any forms of contact were brief and brisk. He just _could not_ handle being touched for long periods of time.

Which made the fact that he hadn't yet pulled away all the more shocking.

Peter glanced down at his slightly shaking hands and shut his eyes, surmising it all to the fact that he was just too exhausted to do anything about it. Yeah _. That had to be it._

Unbeknownst to him, Tony was having similar feelings as he steeled his gaze to anywhere but the kid in his grasp. Unlike Peter, he had much more practice in masking his uncomfortableness. After all, physical contact wasn't really his cup of tea either. Apart from Rhodey, Pepper and the occasional Happy, most people weren't allowed to get _close_ enough to touch him, let alone they actually _do_ it.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he stole a small glance to the teen below him, Peter's eyes trailing along the floor. The billionaire turned away again, slightly shifting his hold on the kid. This didn't mean anything. This was only because the moron was too out of it to hold himself up. That was it. _That had to be it._

They still said nothing.

After another moment, the elevator opened up onto the penthouse floor. Peter cracked open his eyes slightly, gasping as he took in the sight before him.

"Holy _shit._ "

"Language."

"Heh...you sound like Natasha."

"Don't ever insult me like that again."

Peter smiled as Tony rolled his eyes, the teen barely able to look away from the room.

The elevator opened up at the back of the room, revealing a huge room that seemed to be split into two main parts. One one side, you had what appeared to be a large living room, complete with a large couch and a few chairs situated to face the huge TV that sat on the wall. Across from the living room sat a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a cooking magazine, the models and appliances all looking sleek and brand new.

Pressing one hand against the wall for support, Peter stepped away from the billionaire as he moved deeper into the room, head swiveling to take in all the sights.

As he backed away from the elevator, Peter noticed that the wall continued up before tapering off onto another second level, similar to how the lab was structured, resembling a balcony of sorts. Off to the side, near the many couches, there was a large, spiral staircase with individual hovering glass steps that led up to the higher level. However, the stairs also led _down_ which led him to presume there was another level just underneath them.

For a moment, Peter wondered why Tony needed such a lavish and _large_ penthouse considering it was just him living here. After all, this place seemed to be able to fit a small army.

It was then that the teen remembered that it hadn't used to be _just_ him, his brows furrowing slightly in realization.

"Hey, kid."

Peter turned, noticing that Tony was now in the kitchen, fiddling with something in one of the many cabinets. "Get over here before you keel over, would ya'?"

A few _not-well-hidden_ stumbles later and Peter found himself clambering onto a stool set up against the dining bar along one of the kitchen counters. The kid folded his arms on the surface of the table and rested his head, eyes lazily following Tony around the kitchen.

Peter noted how the billionaire almost seemed... _lost_ in the kitchen, as if he'd never set foot in the room before. Considering this was the man who the teen was relying on to feed him, it probably wasn't that good of a sign.

Before he could start to worry, however, Tony was glancing back at him. "Alright, kid. Do me a favor and don't die for like, the next twenty minutes or something." He paused. "Actually," Turning back around, he reached into the fridge. Pulling out a can of soda, the man placed it on the counter in front of the boy's face. "Drink this. No wait," He turned back around. Suddenly an identical can was being placed right next to the first one. "Drink both of these."

Peter glanced up at him. "Umm..."

"No talking. Chugging."

Peter blinked at the can before his lips were curling into a grin.

"What?" Tony asked, cocking a brow.

The teen shook his head. "No, nothing. It's just...I found the next title for your autobiography."

Tony stared at him before slapping him with the dish towel, Peter ducking under the rag. "Smart-ass." The billionaire muttered with a smirk.

Peter smiled before turning back down to stare at the sodas. Without another word, he popped the tab on the first one and tipped the lip of the can back towards his mouth. The fizzy liquid swished around his tongue before falling down his throat. The frothing bubbles made it hard to chug per say, but he got it down fairly easily. The next can took him a bit longer to finish, but he did. Setting the empty can down next to the first, the boy let out a small sigh and rested his head back down on his arms.

The teen watched as Tony milled about the kitchen, fiddling with the stove as a large pot sat on one of the burners. Cursing something under his breath, the man finally seemed content as he moved away, digging around in the fridge for a moment before he pulled out some vegetables and a box of broth.

Peter let his eyes flutter shut as the man worked. He didn't sleep. But this just seemed better. Tony obviously noted the teen's exhaustion, for he said nothing as the kid rested, simply content to work in the silence.

In fact, it wasn't until at least ten or fifteen minutes had passed before the billionaire spoke up once more.

"Mkay, kid. Spill." Peter's eyes opened once more as the man continued. "I've known you for nearly two months now and something like this has never happened before. I know you're a pretty good liar when you want to be but I don't think even _you_ could have hidden the fact that you're, oh...I don't know, casually _starving_ in my presence." He threw the teen a disapproving look as he folded his arms. "Like...what the hell?"

Peter lifted his head and glanced down at his hands, seeming to find his fingers incredibly interesting in that moment as he traced them along the counter. "My friend, Ned. He's been sick for the past couple days. Usually, he forces me to eat something. A sandwich he packed for me. An apple or two. Something like that. He knows I don't eat all that much at home so he-"

The teen's words quickly died in his mouth as his eyes widened slightly, a panicked look washing over his face for a moment before it was replaced with a look of apprehension. Tony narrowed his eyes as he leaned against the counter. "Okay...follow-up question: Why don't you eat at home?"

Peter stared at the man for a moment, eyes flickering over the features of his face before he turned away, hands wringing together. "Umm...I...I usually don't have time to." He finally murmured softly. "With homework, chores and well...spider-man- _ing_...I'm usually pretty busy. Most days, I barely have time to finish all my work before my father gets home, and once he does, I have to get started on dinner. And it's not like I can actually sit with them while they're eating," He muttered, rolling his eyes. "so I usually go and finish my homework upstairs and then head out on patrol." He explained, Tony staring at him intently as he did so.

"I guess I just forget sometimes."

It wasn't a total lie. He _did_ just forget to eat sometimes. Besides, it not like Mr. Stark had to know his father was a psycho control freak who seemed to make it his goal to torture and manipulate every aspect of his son's life.

Nobody needed to know that.

Tony continued to stare for a moment longer before he turned away, the look in his eyes lingering with Peter for a moment before it too vanished. The older man moved back over to the pot, which was boiling now with whatever liquid was being held inside. "Uh-huh...and uh...why are _you_ the one cooking anyway?" Tony asked. The teen watched as the man grabbed an onion sitting off to the side. He peeled it before grabbing the knife. He only made a few slices in the vegetable before pausing, deciding to just dump the entire onion into the pot.

...okay?

He reached over and picked up a carrot, swinging it around in the air as he spoke. "Doesn't that seem like something your mom would be doing?" He asked absentmindedly as he began to chop the vegetable into small, uneven slices.

Peter barely registered the question as he watched the boiling pit, which was threatening to overflow. "Yeah, no. I don't think she's gonna be cooking me meals anytime soon." He muttered before raising his hand. "Umm...do you think you should...?" He murmured, gesturing towards the pot as he winced watching it begin to splash out around the rim.

Tony continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "How come?" He asked, glaring down at the carrot pieces before haphazardly tossing them into the pot.

Peter grimaced as the already frothing pot got even angrier. The word were out of his mouth before he could even understand what the question was. "Kinda hard to cook pasta when you're six feet under. You get dirt in the spaghetti sauce."

The room instantly seemed to freeze, the atmosphere quickly becoming heavy and suffocating. Nobody even moved as the pot began to boil over. Tony, whose back was still to the teen, shut his eyes tightly, mouthing a _'fuck me'_ before slowly turning around.

Peter seemed just as surprised as him, as if he hadn't expected the words to fall out of his mouth. His eyes were wide and his posture was as rigid as a board. He blinked rapidly before his wide eyes met Tony's. "S-sorry...I...I-I...sorry, that's was...I mean...I-I didn't...didn't mean to...t-to..."

"Kid, hey." Tony cut him off, lifting his hands. "Why are _you_ apologizing? _I'm_ the asshole here." He scoffed, though there was very little humor behind it. What made things worse was that Tony already knew that. He knew Peter's mother was...gone. That was one of the first things that'd he'd discovered when he'd researched the teen all those months ago.

_Just can't stop spewing out the garbage huh, Stark? Well, points for mentioning the dead mother. What now? Gonna bring in the douchebag dad? Maybe a school bully? Or, better yet! Why don't you just slug the kid in the face. Yeah! That's it, you idiot._

Peter seemed to be in just as much, if not, even _more_ turmoil than Tony as he stared down at his hands. "Sorry..." He said once more. "Just used to...to ignoring her, I guess." He said softly.

Tony furrowed his brow at that. "What do you mean?" He asked, despite his better judgement. He didn't really trust his mouth at the moment.

Peter glanced at him for a moment before staring back down at his hands. "Dad doesn't like it when I walk about her." He whispered. "He gets mad. Like...like really mad."

The man's face twitched angrily at that, but he held his tongue, knowing whatever he said on the matter probably wouldn't do any good. In fact, it probably would have been best if he stopped talking altogether and just finished whatever disaster he was currently cooking. Stuff like this...this was _all_ feelings. Emotions, turmoil, pain...not really his thing. He usually tried to stay away from topics such as these. For when it came to him, he had the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.

A robot bull.

With lasers.

And rockets.

On steroids.

After all, he wasn't really the best when it came to retraining strong emotions. Siberia was a prime example of him losing control and he _definitely_ wasn't about to risk that again. Or worse, making Peter risk that. Having only caught a few glimpses of the teen's true anger, he hated to wonder what it would be like if the teen ever _did_ lose control like _he_ had.

Still, he couldn't help but take in the sight of Peter's face. He knew that face. He recognized that face. it was identical to the one that had plagued his face after...after...

He'd tried to hold it in too. But nobody ever told him that avoiding the pain was just as torturous as confronting it. He glanced back at Peter. He couldn't force the kid to talk. Heaven knew dozens of people had tried that with him and all it'd done was make him more and more reclusive. He'd tried to refuse. But at every corner, it seemed as if there had been someone trying to pry the truth out of him. As if they were taking away his right to choose whether or not to talk through his pain.

No...he couldn't force Peter to speak. But that didn't mean he couldn't give him what he'd never had: the right to choose.

"Do...do you _want..._ to talk about her?" His hesitations were clear in his voice.

Peter narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "No." He growled, his face morphing slightly into an unreadable expression. "I...I don't know. She..." It was obvious he'd never done something like this before. He was flustered. But he wasn't tripping over his words, so Tony assumed he was okay.

Well...as okay as one could be when talking about...you know...

The teen let out a small sigh. "She was...I was only four when she died so...I...I-I..."

"What happened?" The billionaire asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. His eyes widened as his brain began to catch up to his big mouth. _Fucking goddamn it, man! Like, come on!_ Peter stared at him as he tried to backtrack, tripping over his own feet as he did so. "You know what? Never mind. Forget I even said anything, kid. I'm just-"

"No."

He looked up.

Peter's face was tight as he stared at his hands, as if he couldn't pull his gaze away from them. "No...it's okay. I..." He let out a small humorless laugh. "It's so stupid. I was like, only a toddler when it happened, but I still remember it so well, you know?"

He trailed off for a moment, not saying anything. For a second, Tony wondered if maybe he'd changed his mind, but after another second, he opened his mouth.

"It was raining outside. Thundering. I didn't like it. It was loud." His words were clipped. His voice tight. But he didn't stop. Tony didn't say anything. Peter continued.

"She came into my room. I knew something was wrong cause...cause she was scared." He glanced back up. "I didn't like that either. She...she pulled me from the bed and took me downstairs." He gripped his hands together tightly. "That's when I started to hear the gunshots."

"Gunshots?" Tony echoed, his voice low.

Peter barely gave a nod. "They...they sounded like thunder. The...t-the thundering. It...i...it confused me. And it was loud. Like...i couldn't...it was t-too loud and...I-I..." He grit his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, his shaking hands digging into his jeans as the distant sound of thundering began to fill his ears. But they were sharp. The noises. It was sharp. And loud. Too sharp to be thunder. God he...he couldn't do this. It was too loud and he couldn't-

He blinked open his eyes as he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, quickly dragging him back to reality. He glanced up and noticed Tony was now leaning closer, brow furrowed in an expression Peter couldn't really identify. But he didn't care. The noise, whatever that had been, it was gone again.

The billionaire stared down at him. "You don't have to keep going if-"

"No." Peter shook his head, shutting his eyes for a brief moment once again. "I...I have to do this. I just...I..." Tony nodded, clearly understanding as he took another step back.

Peter sucked in a deep breath as he stared back down at his hands, tracing each line as he continued, the motion seeming to calm him. "She...she hid me in a closet and closed the door. There were a lot of gunshots after that."

Tony raised a brow. "Where was your dad?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know. It was just me and my mom in the house at the time. I think he was at the office when it happened. Anyway, when everything got quiet, I went to check what was happening. I wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to stay in the closet, stay hidden, but...but I was scared and I wanted to...to see her, you know?" He asked, raising his head. He didn't wait for a reply.

"I got out. I...I went to check...the...the living room and..." He lifted his hands slightly. "and...that was it." He murmured, dropping his hands back down into his lap. A small smile crept onto his face, but Tony couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the sight. "It's funny, really." Peter chuckled. "I thought I'd only lost one parent in the break in. But, turns out my dad died that night, too." He sighed. "At least a part of him did."

He turned away as the pair lapsed into silence. The only sound was the frothing of the pot and the hiss of the liquid reaching the burner underneath. Tony said nothing as he turned away. What was he _supposed_ to say anyway? What could he possibly say that hadn't already been said? It wasn't like it would change anything.

This wasn't his thing. Comfort, words of encouragement. But he wondered if such things would really be of much help in that moment. He'd relieved plenty of kind words when his parents had died and it had done nothing to ease the pain. In fact, he remembered moments where such words had made him mad. It wasn't _their_ tragedy. What right did they have to be sorry? Their words meant nothing. Nothing but hollow apologies and cold comfort.

He glanced over at Peter, who continued to stare down at his lap. Tony remembered all those people. He hated them. Hated how shallow they all were. Hated how they tried to beat around the bush and stepped on eggshells around him. Like he was this fragile thing that deserved their pity.

He stared at the teenager across from him. Peter didn't need that. He didn't deserve those empty words.

So, as he moved the pot off the burner, he said the first thing that popped into his mind, something he'd secretly wished someone would have said to him.

"Yeah, that shit sucks, doesn't it?" Cause it did. And it had.

Peter lifted his head and cocked a brow. "That's... _one_ way to put it." He muttered, though he didn't seem too bothered by the words. A little surprised, maybe, but not bothered. In fact, he almost looked... _amused._

The billionaire leaned his elbow against the counter, gazing back at the teen. "Well, I can honestly say I know how that feels, kid." He muttered. "My parents died when I was only a few years older than you, so I guess it was a little easier on me." He sighed, Peter staring back at him with those large, longing eyes of him. Those eyes that made Tony want to talk and keep talking until he finally said something that made him worthy of the praise gleaming in those hazel pools.

"Still...it's hard when you're alone."

Peter blinked at him before letting out a small breath, turning his gaze away. "Yeah...I know how that feels, too." He whispered.

"Well you shouldn't." The boy turned back towards the man at the tone of his voice. There was something there. Something he hadn't heard before. It wasn't pity. He knew what pity sounded like. He hated the sound. No, this...this was almost like... _understanding_. Hmm...it sounded... _strange_. Not bad, just...strange. _Uncommon_.

"So for that...I'm sorry." Tony finished, his eyes reflecting something Peter rarely saw in them. A rawness the teen was certain the older man often tried to cover up. He knew how that felt too.

The billionaire quickly seemed to notice his slip, for he blinked and it was gone. He let out a small cough against the back of his hand as he pushed off the counter, tuning away from the boy as he moved back over towards the pot. "Jeez..." He muttered as he stared at the concoction.

"Well, not gonna lie, kid. I'm only like, sixty percent sure this is edible." He scoffed as he began to fill a small bowl with the liquid. "Eh... make it forty" He winced as he stole another glance at the liquid. "But you don't have that many options. I can't just keep loading you up with soda so here you go." He grimaced as he placed the bowl down in front of the teen.

The broth was a dark yellow with swirls of brown mingled in throughout. The teen glanced back up, giving the man a small smile. "Trust me, Mr. Stark, I've had worse."

Tony smirked. "I doubt it, kid."

Peter leaned forward, cocking a brow. "Do you know what's in the dumpsters behind those 24 hour buffet places? Cause I do."

The man stared at him in shock for a moment before an involuntary shudder racked his body. Peter nodded. "Yeah, exactly." He chuckled as he grabbed the spoon next to the bowl and took a sip of the soup.

He didn't want to say it was... _bad._ More like his tongue refused to accept that it was even touching such a thing - cause it definitely wasn't _food_. So...pretty bad. It tasted a little like he'd just juiced an onion of whatever juice it had inside, dumped in an entire container of salt and then mixed the entire thing up in a toilet bowl...while on fire.

Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his face at the teen's expression. "Still think you've had worse?"

Peter swallowed the liquid that had been in his mouth with a small groan before giving a small shrug of his shoulder. "Well I mean, I didn't have to fight with a raccoon over this so...silver linings."

The man chuckled. "It's fine, kid. I know it has to be terrible." He muttered as he grabbed a spoon from the sink and dipped it into the bowl. He'd barely even allowed the liquid to touch his tongue before he was spitting into the sink, Peter flinching back with a laugh. "God!" Tony breathed. "Forget the starvation. This right here is what's gonna do you in." He scoffed, Peter snickering behind his hand. "Actually, I think the starvation is more humane." The billionaire grimaced.

Peter shrugged his shoulder as Tony continued to shiver at the violation of his tastebuds. "You know, it would probably be a lot better if you counter the saltiness with a little pinch of sugar and then maybe add a bit of lemon juice to counter the onion taste." He explained, before pausing. "Like...like a _lot_ of lemon juice. Like... _a lot a lot_ of lemon juice."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Tony scoffed as Peter grinned. "How come you know so much about cooking anyway?" The man asked as he folded his arms.

Peter waved one hand dismissively. "I cool every day for a house of six people." He muttered. "I kinda had to learn it fast."

"Right." Tony uttered.

Peter glanced down at the... _soup?_ before him, grimacing as a bubble emerged in the thick liquid before popping. "Umm...Mr. Stark? I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful or anything, but umm...do you think maybe we can make something else?" He asked with a pained look on his face. It was probably from the fact that he was like, ninety percent sure the soup had just growled at him.

The man nodded. "Sure, but whatever else I make probably isn't gonna turn out much better than that." He pointed with a disgusted look towards the soup.

Peter smiled. "I know. That's why I said _'we'"._

Tony cocked a brow as he stared at the teen, though he couldn't help the small smile that fell onto his face. Peter hopped down from the stool, content with the fact that he didn't sway. "How's breakfast for dinner sound?"

The billionaire glanced back over towards the growling soup. "Better than death." He muttered. "Fire away, kid." He called as Peter began to make his way over towards the fridge.

As he watched the teen grab a carton and place it on the counter, he couldn't help the small nagging feeling that had been burning in his chest ever since Peter had revealed what he had. He stared at the boy for a moment in deliberation, wondering whether or not it was actually a good idea before he decided it couldn't hurt.

Walking forward, the man placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, the boy gazing up with a questioning look. He stared down for a second before speaking. "I'm sorry about your mom, Peter." The words were soft, quiet. But both Tony and Peter could feel the gravity of them.

The teen searched the older man's face for a moment before he took a small breath. "I'm sorry about your parents."

Tony's fingers twitched slightly at that, but for some reason, the words he'd heard millions of times seemed...different. As if they held a whole new meaning just by having this one teenager speak them. Maybe it was how he said it. How they'd both said it.

No pity. Just understanding.

The billionaire nodded.

"I'm sorry for feeding you poison."

Peter couldn't stop the laugh from falling from his lips. "I don't think even poison tastes that much like onions."

* * *

**Wednesday - March 30, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse**

**06:24 p.m.**

"Okay, it's official. This is impossible." Tony muttered as he tried to fold over his omelet. The edges simply cracked as the egg began to tear and break, bits and pieces of it sticking to the pan. "I-" He started, only to pause as he glanced over at Peter. The teen folded his omelet over perfectly, the edges a pristine golden brown as he slid the entire thing effortlessly off the pan and onto the plate beside him.

Tony narrowed his eyes and pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "There's a lot to not like about you, Mr. Parker."

Peter threw him a cheeky grin as he placed the skillet into the pan. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're doing great...if you're going for scrambled eggs." He chuckled with a small sympathetic smile.

Tony glared back at the pan. "Questa è una cazzo di cazzata." He muttered under his breath.*

Peter scrunched his nose. "Stop cursing." He scolded, placing his hands on his hips. Tony quirked a brow. "How do you know I'm cursing? You don't even _know_ Italian!"

The teen sniffed. "Context clues." He teased, smile growing as Tony's grumbling raised in volume.

Peter placed the plated omelet down onto the island in the middle of the kitchen, which already held an assortment of different dishes, ranging from burnt bacon to burnt toast to burnt...oatmeal. Peter couldn't tell.

Well...he was getting... _better._

Tony haphazardly pushed out the contents of the pan out onto the plate next to him. "There, that's as good as it's getting." He muttered as he folded his arms. Peter giggled as he grabbed the plate and placed it next to his. "Better than the last batch." He called, Tony letting out a small hum.

The pair moved over towards the island as they stared at the multiple plates of food. "We don't have to eat _all_ of this, do we?" The teen asked. Tony shook his head. "Nah, we'll just force Happy to eat it or something."

"Cool."

The billionaire watched as Peter moved back over towards the counter, where a freshly mixed bowl of uncooked pancake batter sat. The man watched with slightly furrowed brow as the kid gave the bowl a slight stir, a nagging topic hanging in the back of his mind. He knew it wasn't gonna go away until he addressed it.

"Kid?"

Peter turned towards him. Tony moved closer. "I don't want this happening again." He sighed, continuing as Peter gave him a confused look. "As in, I don't want you showing up here hungry anymore alright. I can't have you hiding something like that from me."

Peter lowered his gaze. "Mr. St-"

"Ah, ah, ah! Let me finish" He interrupted, the teen falling silent. "I can't have you going hungry when I'm _literally_ the most equipped person to help you with that." He scoffed as he tossed his hands into the air exasperatedly.

He leaned closer and placed his hands onto the teen's shoulders, Peter tensing for a second before a small laugh fell from his lips as Tony gently shook the boy back and forth. "Listen to me, tiny human. If you're hungry, I _need_ you to tell me, alright?" He quirked a brow. "Cause if Pepper finds you passed out on my lab floor, she's gonna make me eat more Devil Soup, mkay? And I'm gonna tell you, kid. I don't think my heart can take any more of that."

The teen let out a small laugh before Tony gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "Do you think you can do that, kid?" He asked, the humor leaving his face, quickly being replaced with a concerned frown. Peter stared at him for a moment, glancing down at the floor in thought before he stared back up at the billionaire. He felt his fingers twitching, but ignored them. Instead, he gave a small smile as he nodded his head.

The man nodded his head as he patted the teen's shoulder. "Good deal, Baby Genius." He called as he moved away, Peter giving a small groan. "That's sticking now, huh? Great..."

Tony threw a smirk his way, moving over towards the bowl of cake batter. "How many more of these do I have to screw up until we're done?" He muttered as he picked up the bowl of batter.

Peter giggled. "You're not _that_ bad. Besides, we only have a few more. I'm not giving up until you've at least tried your hand at each of these. From what you told me, you only ever _once_ tried to make an omelet."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it was horrible." He muttered as he popped the batter-covered wooden spoon into his mouth. "This, however, is not. Seriously, I know I shouldn't be eating this but it's like the best thing I've ever tasted in my life." He said as Peter gave his own eye roll.

"Welp, I'm thinking a breakfast sandwich might be a bit above your level right now."

"Pshh...thanks."

Peter scrunched his nose. "Don't pretend that it isn't. We both know it's true and- _would you stop eating the batter?!_ That's bad for you! It's not even cooked!"

Tony glared at him. "Fottiti, questa è l'unica cosa buona della mia vita in questo momento."*

The teen pouted right back. "Stop cursing! My baby ears are burning." He moaned overdramatically while Tony rolled his eyes. "Please, this coming from the kid that spend like, an hour with a wanted assassin."

Peter placed his hands on his hips. "That's not going away anytime soon, huh?"

Tony smirked at him as Peter sighed. "Whatever. Anyway, since you're kinda already there - and it'll keep you away from the uncooked batter - we could at least try some scrambled eggs. They should be easy for you. They require no finesse."

The billionaire threw him a look. "Thanks." He deadpanned. Peter giving him an apologetic smile. "You know what I mean. Can you pass me the pepper?"

"Pepe, kid. Pepe." Tony corrected as he handed the teen the shaker. He'd decided around an hour ago that if Peter was gonna make him look like a fool when it came to this, then he was gonna relish in hearing the boy _sound_ like a fool. So, long story short, Peter was now learning _two_ new languages.

Peter nodded. "Right, like the skunk."

"What now?"

The kid turned to look at him as he shrugged. "Pepé Le Pew? You know, Looney Tunes? Bugs Bunny. Daffy Duck."

Tony gave him an odd stare. "Are these _words_ coming out of your mouth right now?"

"Haven't you ever watched Looney Tunes?" Peter asked with an incredulous stare.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, cause I look like the kind of guy that watches cartoons." He muttered.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as he lowered his head. "Well you're Italian and you can't cook for shit so I don't know what to think." He murmured under his breath, puffing his cheeks slightly as Tony stared at him with an unreadable expression.

Suddenly, Peter found himself letting out a loud shout of shock as a handful of cold, pancake batter was being shoved into his face. He sputtered as he wiped the thick, sticky substance away from his eyes. He whirled around to stare at Tony, who didn't look the _least_ bit regretful.

"HEY!" Peter shouted, forgetting for a second who he was talking to. Tony didn't seem to care at all as his face held the barest hints of a smirk. "What?"

The teen opened his mouth, only to pause as he caught sight of something past the kitchen. The billionaire seemed to notice the teen's shift, for he turned around as well, eyes widening at the sight.

Pepper, Rhodey, Happy _and_ Natasha were all sitting at the dining bar, identical smirks adorning each of their faces. Happy and Rhodey both had their phones out as Nat gave a small wave. "What are you two boys up to?" She called innocently.

Rhodey rested his cheek on his fist. "Gotta say, Tones. I'm pretty pleased. Now I know what to get you for Christmas this year. A nice pretty apron." He chuckled.

Pepper chuckled as Happy leaned closer. "Make sure it's Iron Man themed."

"Or else he won't wear it." Natasha added.

Peter tried to hide his grin as he glanced back up at Tony, who had yet to say anything, his face blank. Finally, the man seemed to snap out of his stupor as he clicked his lips together, casually wiping a large slab of batter off of Peter's cheek before hurling it towards Rhodey and Happy, the two men ducking underneath the projectile as Peter burst out laughing.

"Pete, you know what I said before about all this food?"

"Y-yeah..." The teen breathed through his laughs.

"Scratch that. They're _all_ eating this shit now."

The four intruders in the room seemed to pale at that. Tony glanced over at Peter as the kid continued to giggle, the billionaire poking the teen in the cheek.

"You got something on your face."

* * *

_5) I Will Never Eat Without Permission . . . . At Home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is fucking bullshit.
> 
> *Fuck you, this is the only good thing going on in my life right now.


	12. The Criminal Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But that's the job." He continued. "If we sat back and did nothing, when we knew what was happening, when we had the chance to stop it, then that really does make us the bad guys." He murmured.
> 
> Clint stared at him incredulously. "Us? Seriously? No, no, no. We are not the bad guys here. We were never the bad guys!" He shouted.
> 
> Sam shook his head. "Then how come we're the ones who've gotta hide?" He muttered, glaring down at the floor.
> 
> "Cause we're the ones that lost."

**Thursday - March 31, 2016**

**Gramercy, NYC**

**DayBreak Cafe and Bakery**

**08:54 a.m.**

" _Catherine With A 'C'!_ Your order is ready!"

Piercing blue eyes flicked upwards to gaze at the barista currently holding up a styrofoam cup and a small brown bag, a bored expression glazing her face as she passed the items to the blonde woman approaching the counter.

His leg bounced rhythmically as he turned away, his thumbs tapping against the sides of his cup in a steady, calming manner. _Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

The soft noise was enough to keep him focused, which was difficult when taking into consideration the environment around him. The loud hissing of the espresso machines in the background mingling with the beeping of machines he'd never seen before, nor knew what they were for. The overpowering scent of coffee, sugar and milk wafting through the air, seeming to assault his senses. The _unbelievably_ loud drones of the conversations going on around him, voices twisting around each other as people fought to be heard over each other by constantly growing louder and louder. The noise grated through his head, piercing his skull painfully as it seemed to bare down on him from all angles in an overpowering wave of shrill voices, loud hisses and nauseatingly sweet scents.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

Taking a deep breath, Steve shut his eyes and focused on the feel of the cup underneath his fingers, the rough texture rubbing up against his skin. Slowly, the wave began to settle as the waters grew calm once more, the noise eventually settling into a steady drone in the background.

His leg bounced rhythmically underneath the table while the soft sound of his thumbs tapping against he sides of his styrofoam cup were enough to distract him from the sound of people talking and cars honking outside. The scent of coffee and warm muffins was nearly overpowering in the building, though the many people occupying the space didn't help aid the already-cramped feeling.

Even when he'd been younger, as in _pre-serum_ young, he'd never been comfortable surrounded by crowds of people. Something about the cramped feeling of being clustered and crowded made his skin crawl in a manner he'd often forget. Then again, he'd forgotten how a lot of things felt after the serum. So he supposed it was somewhat comforting to know that there were still some things that hadn't changed.

Of course, it just happened to be one of the things that made him uncomfortable...

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

Quickly allowing the soft noise to drag him back into the present, Steve narrowed his eyes as he quickly refocused. Taking a second to adjust the sunglasses on his face, his fingers brushed up against the baseball cap atop his head as he reached for the earpiece.

His voice was quiet and barely detectable to anyone around him, though he was sure he wouldn't have been heard by anyone even if he'd been speaking at a normal volume given how loud it was in the cafe.

"Any sign of the target?"

He had a job to do, after all.

He could practically feel the vibrations of the earpiece rattling against this skin as a voice broke through the fuzz. " _Negative so far."_

Making sure to keep his head low, Steve twisted around slightly in his seat, making out a slim figure standing near the back of the shop. She had a jacket on with the hood up, shrouding her face in shadow save for the slight gleam of her sunglasses glinting against the bright lights of the cafe. Keeping her gaze upwards as she pretended to silently read the menus up above the baristas' heads, Natasha reached a hand upwards to seemingly brush a stray strand of hair out of her face, her fingers pressing against the earpiece as she did so. " _But it's still early."_ She said softly.

" _Nothing from up here, either."_ Sam's voice cut through the feed, Steve's gaze instinctively lifting towards the ceiling, where the man was currently keeping watch from above. The super soldier narrowed his eyes. He'd expected them to show by now.

_Tap, tap, tap..._

" _Okay, now...just how sure are we that they're actually gonna show?"_

Steve sighed as his gaze traveled to the other end of the store, where a man in a dark jacket and a similar baseball cap to his sat by the window, fiddling with a packet of sugar while a bored expression marred his features. Clint adjusted his hat as his hand shifted down to tap the earpiece. " _I mean, I can't be the only one who's wondering whether or not this is a lost cause."_

Natasha rolled her eyes from her position. " _No, but now_ I'm _wondering why we decided to bring you along."_ She muttered, though her voice still filtered through the coms.

From across the room, Steve could see the archer fold his arms and lean back in his chair. _"Well excuse me. But same of us maybe don't want to be tossed back into a cell. A cell, I'd like to add, that neither of you had the pleasure of experiencing, thank you very much."_ He snapped before adding, _"Sam, back me up here, man."_

There was a pause before Sam's voice cut back in. "If you had to listen to Scott's god-awful singing in there, you'd be pretty pissed too, you guys."

Clint gave a small victorious huff.

"Can we maybe focus here, please?" Steve interjected, casting small glares to both Clint and Nat, who turned away with slightly disgruntled looks on their faces. He let out a small sigh as he pressed his fingers against his eyes underneath the glasses.

"Look, I know this is risky. But we've been tracking these guys for months. We know they meet up in public areas to try and hide in plain sight." He explained, Natasha's voice cutting in as well. "And from what we were able to get from those two guys we caught a week ago, they said the next meeting was gonna be here." She said, Steve's mind snapping to when they'd taken down one of the smaller plants of workers, squeezing the small hint of information from one of the guys before the police had arrived.

Clint scoffed. " _Right. Cause criminals have been known to be such trustworthy people in the past."_

Natasha stole a small glance over toward the man. " _We trust each other, don't we?"_ She asked, her face unreadable.

Clint's, however, was not as he glared back at her, hands clenching slightly. " _We're **not** criminals_." He growled, the anger tangible in just his voice alone as it shot through the coms.

" _We are to the people who matter."_ The woman shot back.

The archer turned towards her, teeth gritted _. "Like we should-_ "

" _Enough_."

Steve's voice was enough to silence both of them as they held their gazes for a moment longer before turning away, instantly becoming ordinary customers of the cafe once more. The super soldier continued to tap his fingers against the sides of the cup. Upon noticing the tense posture of both of his teammates, the man couldn't help but let out a breath as he continued in a more resigned tone, "We'll talk about this later."

 _"Oh, great."_ They all startled as Sam piped up. _"We have that to look forward to. The Clint/Natasha Wars, Part 53._ " If they could have seen through the coms, they were all positive Sam would have been rolling his eyes. " _I'll be sure to save a seat."_

Steve lowered his head with an aggravated sigh as he opened his mouth once again, only for Natasha to beat him to it. " _Hold up. I got something."_

Instantly, the others were silenced at the woman's harsh tone, Steve's muscles reflexively coiling as he lifted his gaze, eyes scanning the room for any sign of strange movement or suspicious characters.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

_"Side entrance. Dark hoodie. Sunglasses."_

The super soldier washed his eyes over the crowd as the description thudded in the back of his head. After another minute of searching, he rested his gaze on a shadowed figure making his way over towards one of the back tables in the corner of the cafe. He was average height with a muscular build, the hoodie hiding most of his face save for small tips of dirty blonde hair poking out.

Sitting at the table already, there was a man with common reading glasses perched atop his too-long nose, his dark brows knitted together as he stared down at the newspaper laying on the table next to his steaming cup of coffee, which from what Steve could tell, didn't seem to have been touched at all.

He had long black hair that stretched down to his shoulders and a long jacket reaching down to the floor, covering his crossed legs. He didn't look up as the first man approached, silently pulling out the chair across from him as he took a seat.

From where he was sitting plus the added noise of the busy coffee shop, it was impossible to hear what the two were beginning to say as their voices were drowned out in a sea of other swelling noises and shouts.

However, with a small swish of red hair, Steve already knew Natasha was on the move.

Casually walking away from the wall she'd been perched on, the woman moved forward and began to weave around the bustling crowds of people, slipping past the table their suspects were sitting at. Steve was just barely able to detect the woman's hand carefully reaching out as she attached a small round disk about half the size of a penny onto the back of one of the men's chairs, moving away just as casually.

Silently, she walked past Steve as well, pausing as she reached the chair opposite from him at the table. Pulling it out, she quickly sat down as she reached into her pocket and retrieved another small device. This one resembled the communicators already in their ears, if not much smaller.

Pulling out the comm set already lodged in her ear, she carefully attached the new device to the communicator before slipping it back in her ear, the dim blue glow of the device quickly being covered up as she brushed her hair over her ears.

A small flicker of static made Steve cringe slightly as the noise was amplified through his eardrums, but it eventually settled down as the sound of nearby voices began to fill his ears. And they weren't his teammates.

Flickering his eyes up for a moment, he was able to make out the two men at the back table. The last to arrive had his arm propped up on the back of his chair while the other continued to stare down at the newspaper.

" _Anything interesting happenin' today?"_ The first man asked, gesturing to the paper with a lopsided smirk on his face. Now that he was seated, Steve could make out more details. His face was scratched up and his chin was covered in stubble, as if he hadn't shaved in a while. The look resembled that of a homeless man. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken many times over, and there was a small scar running through one of his eyebrows.

The other man let out a small sigh as he set the paper down, resting his elbows on the table as he folded his hands together in the air. " _Nothing much, honestly."_ He replied with a shrug. The slightly more serious nature of his tone and face gave Steve the impression that he had more authority in the situation, if only slightly.

He glanced back at Natasha as the woman gave him a similar look, confirming his suspicions.

The man who'd originally started out at the table removed the glasses from his face and tossed them down haphazardly onto the table, making Steve wonder whether or not he actually needed them, or if they were just another part of his disguise. He was willing to bet on the latter. " _How are we doing, Mark?"_ He asked, his tone taking on a hushed quality as he stared back at his partner.

The other man - _Mark -_ as he had been called, gave a small smirk as he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. " _I got the boys working full-time now. They were a bit testy to start, but operations are running smoothly and we're getting plenty of clientele so they've settled."_ His voice carried over through the coms.

His partner didn't seem to feel the same sense of lackadaisical content as he gave a firm frown, pressing his fingers against his lips as he furrowed his brows tightly. " _Nothing but a bunch of low-life thugs and common street criminals."_ He muttered.

Mark cocked a brow as he tossed one hand dismissively into the air. " _Well...yeah. I mean, who else would we be selling to?"_ He asked. " _It's not like we can just go tossing this shit out to whoever, you know."_

 _"See, that's your problem, Mark."_ The other man said as he pointed a finger at him. _"You're not thinking big enough. We're dealing with some serious tech here_ , man." He murmured quietly, though the hidden speaker was still able to pick up on each and every word. " _You really think there aren't thousands of people who want to get their hands on some of that stuff?"_ He leaned closer, eyes narrowed. " _People with a_ lot _more money than a bunch of fucking gang members."_

Mark stared hard at the man before him, letting out a breath as he gave his partner a hard look. " _What are you pickin' at, Nicky?"_

 _Nicky_ leaned back in his chair as a large grin split his face, revealing a row of stained, crooked teeth. " _I'm saying I think I got us a job. A_ big _one."_

Steve narrowed his eyes as he glanced back at Natasha, who stared at him with a knowing look in her cold eyes. From across the cafe, he could just make out Clint tapping his fingers against the table he sat at, brows knitted together in concentration as the archer listened in.

Turning away, Steve stared back down at his cup as the voices of the two men filled his ears again.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap..._

_"I'm still working out the details, but if I can hook this guy, it'll be a huge profit for us."_ Nicky grinned. " _These dudes mean business."_

Mark raised a hand and scratched at his chin. " _How so?"_ He muttered, still looking a bit unconvinced.

Nicky paused for a moment before letting out a sigh, shaking his head slightly as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. " _I don't know, man. They're pretty hardcore, if you know what I mean."_ He grimaced slightly, Mark letting out a sniff.

" _Well do you have any idea who they are?"_

 _"That's just it, Mark. Never seen any of their faces."_ He scoffed. " _They're always wearing these stupid masks and..."_ He trailed off for a moment before continuing. " _...there's gotta be some shit in those things that makes their eyes glow or something."_ He muttered, glancing down at the floor as he mulled it over.

" _Weird..."_

Steve furrowed his brow as the words filled his ears. _Masks..._ He thought to himself, mind subconsciously drifting to the dark black colors and harsh markings of the masks the German Hydra soldiers had adorned back on the battlefields. _Maybe..._ _but it seems like a bit of a stretch_. He murmured, realizing that wearing such a thing nowadays in modern business might be a bit off-putting.

Quickly shaking the thoughts from his head, he quickly tuned back into the conversation, eyes hard as he glared down at the table.

Nicky snorted. " _I know, right?"_

His partner curled his lip as he leaned his elbows onto the surface of the table. " _Hold up. IF you don't know anything about these guys, then how do you eve know they're legit?"_ He snapped.

Nicky narrowed his eyes. " _Look, man. All I know - and all I_ need _to know - is that their main guy's a high roller."_ He muttered with a sickening smirk.

From across the table, Steve could make out Natasha furrowing her brows at that. He glanced up at her, giving her a small questioning look, to which she responded with a narrowed look of her own. He's have to ask her about it later.

 _"I don't know which one it is. There's plenty out there nowadays, but that means he's got big bucks to pay us."_ He explained, tapping one of his knuckles against the table softly. " _So we gotta be ready to grant him a nice little shopping spree if you know what I mean."_ He snickered.

Mark let out a sigh as he ran a hand down his face, resting it against the side of his cheek as he rubbed his fingers against the lines of stubble. " _We'll need to start getting the other stations up and running if that's the plan, Nicky."_

 _"Well, Mackview is still our biggest operator yet so the keep focus on there."_ The man responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. _"For now, keep grouping in the small fish - thugs, gangs, crooks - all that shit until I can wrap this deal down. Got it?_ " He muttered.

Clint lifted up his head from the other side of the cafe, Steve catching his eye as he did so. The archer's eyes hardened as he mouthed the word _"Mackview"_ to the super soldier, Steve giving a small nod. It was a start.

Mark lett out a small scoff as he rested his cheek against his propped-up fist. " _You better be right about this, man."_

 _"Trust me, if things goes down the way I plan, this'll set us up_ bigtime." He sneered.

Mark paused for a moment as he seemed to drink in the other man's words before he let out a small breath, giving a nod as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. " _So how are you gonna get in contact with this group? I mean if they really mean business-"_

_"Guys. We got a problem."_

Sam's terse tone cutting into the coms had all three fugitives sitting up straighter, regretfully pulling their focus away from the conversation still filtering in through the earpieces. "What is it, Sam?" Steve hissed, glaring at the pair of suspects before glancing up towards the ceiling, switching the link on the coms away from the conversation and back onto their private channel, cutting off what the two had currently been speaking about.

 _"We got company._ " Was all he had to reply to have all three Avengers staring at each other for a split second before they each stood up from their seats, fighting to keep their motions casual and calm as their hearts raced and their muscles coiled in anger and frustration.

"How many?" Natasha growled, her tone low and dangerous.

There was a beat of silence before Sam's voice picked up once again. "Roundabout patrols are coming into the area to do a sweep. Four police cruisers. Two vans. Twelve guys in total. Four FBI from what I can make of them _."_ He answered as Steve slowly tossed his cup in the trash as Natasha moved closer to him, taking his arm as the pair once more disguised as a couple. Of course, Steve was used to the woman's faux advances nowadays and simply wrapped his arm around her waist, fighting to keep his fingers from clenching into a fist as he grit his teeth.

 _"They spot us yet?"_ Clint asked, rising from his seat as well, adjusting the glasses on his face.

" _I don't think so. They're not making any advances towards you guys. But their scoping the area and making their way closer to ya'll so you better get out of there now if you don't want them to make you."_ He instructed, the frustrations he was feeling coming through in the words he spoke.

Barton threw Steve and Natasha a glare before turning to glower at the tabletop. " _We're finally starting to learn something."_ HE growled, the true unspoken words hanging in the air - you really think we can just leave now?

Natasha caught his look and narrowed her eyes. _"We won't be able to do anything if we're caught."_

Clint said nothing as his eyes burned, his head lowering as he turned away. Steve took a deep breath. "We need to move. Sam, meet us at the rendezvous point. _Don't_ get spotted. Whatever it takes." He ordered as he and Natasha began to make their way towards the entrance. He paused at the door, keeping his head forward as he spoke again. "Wait two minutes, then follow us out."

Barton didn't look at him as he gave a small nod.

Taking a deep breath, he stole a small glance at Natasha, who said nothing. She simply blinked at him and gave a small reassuring squeeze of his arm. Nodding to himself, he steeled his heart and opened the door to the cafe.

The heat circling through the walls of the cafe only made the brisk air outside all the more colder. Chills ran down his spine as he and Natasha walked down the steps of the cafe and onto the concrete below. Despite the warning bells in his head, Steve couldn't help but steal a glance up.

Across the street, police cars were lining up along the sidewalk up the block and farther down the street. Cops were willing about the bustling crowds currently walking about, eyes peeled and heads swiveling. Farther down the street, he could make out the large black vans that Sam had pointed out, no doubt housing some pissed off FBI agents.

Ripping his eyes away, Steve focused back in on keeping his movements casual as he walked down the street, Natasha by his side. Thankfully, the street was pretty busy with other occupants bustling and shoving past each other.

Then again, on a less positive note, there were also officers milling about the crowds as well, eyes scanning for their faces. Faces that were extremely recognizable.

Subconsciously pulling the lip of his hoodie down just a little more, Natasha leaned closer to him as she kept her eyes peeled on the street. "I thought we had Sam go public on the east side so this _exact_ thing wouldn't happen." She muttered.

It was true. The entire reason they'd even _humored_ the idea of purposely being spotted was so the people who wanted to catch them would be thrown off. If they thought they'd caught a whiff of the " _Rogue Avengers"_ trail, then they should have assumed that the group would bail on the city as fast as possible to try and get away, thus leading the search parties away as well.

Obviously, that was not the case.

He leaned down. "Guess they're not taking any chances." He growled, eyes narrowed.

Instinctively turning his head away as a cop walked by, a little too close for comfort. _We need to get off this street._ He thought to himself, realizing they were much too exposed walking where they were. The rendezvous point was actually an old storefront that appeared to have been closed down for quite some time located a few blocks away from the cafe. They'd stored their bikes in the back lot of the store, away from any prying eyes. Finding such a spot hadn't been all that tricky.

Getting back to it, however, would prove to be much more difficult.

Watching another pair of cops walk closer, Natasha whipped out her phone from her back pocket and lowered her head and kept her eyes locked on the screen, hiding her face from view as Steve looked over her shoulder, hoodie shrouding his features in shadow.

His muscles would remain tense even as the cops walked past, mainly due to the fact that the officers had lingered on the pair for a moment before moving on. Natasha glanced over her shoulder before making out another officer walking slightly ahead of them. "We're too exposed out here."

Steve didn't bother in nodding as the cop moved closer. Scanning the immediate area, he noticed a bus stop a few feet from them near the street. Grabbing Natasha, the two quickly stepped away from the crowd and pressed up against the back billboard of the bus-stop. Leaning his head out slightly, Steve watched the officer walk past, fingers twitching against his side.

He grunted as he felt Natasha elbow him in the side, turning back around to face her. She angled her head to something across the street. Narrowing his eyes, the super soldier could just make out the large green sign and the steel metal handrails leading down into the underground tunnel. _The Subway. Of course!  
_

_"_ Come on. Hurry up." He whispered as they quickly moved away from the bus stop and made for the street. The sharp sound of car horns sounded as they haphazardly crossed the street, not even bothering to wait for the crosswalk. Steve leaned down as they moved. "You know, I distinctly remember you telling me that when you're on the run, you gotta act like there's nothing to run from." He muttered, throwing a look over his shoulder as drivers flipped them off.

"I'm not really getting that impression right now."

Natasha didn't bother looking up at him as they stepped onto the other side of the street. "That was when there weren't two dozen cops stepping right on our tails." She shot back. "You really want to try and act like there's nothing to hide, Mr. Number One Fugitive?"

He threw her a small glare but said nothing, begrudgingly realizing she had a point. The last time he'd run from the law with her, the public hadn't known about it, merely a few - albeit corrupt - SHIELD agents.

That was not the case this time. This time, the entire world knew about their status. The entire world was looking for them, which made it much harder to try and simply blend in considering the people he was trying to blend in with could reveal him at anytime. All it would take is one fan staring at his face for a second too long.

"Can't believe I'm starting to miss the days where the only people out to get us were a couple of HYDRA goons." He muttered as Natasha threw him a small smirk. "Well, wait a couple hours. You might get your chance at them again."

He said nothing as they approached the subway tunnel, only for their steps to falter as they turned the corner.

"Shit..." Steve growled, Natasha not even bothering to tease him, for she was thinking the same thing.

Standing right at the entrance to the tunnel were two cops, each individually checking people before they descended down into the tunnel. Quickly moving off the main sidewalk, the two pressed themselves into one of the nearby alleyways between the two storefronts outside the subway.

"We need to get down there. It's the only way we're getting through this without being spotted." Natasha growled, realizing the number of cops quickly filling the streets was too much, even for them. Even for her. "We need something to draw them away. A distraction."

Steve leaned his head out to stare at the two cops, nearby officers catching his eye as well. He pressed his hand to the wall, the cold brick grazing his fingertips. He narrowed his eyes as he realized the wall belonged to a popular department store. A department store with a security alarm. A pretty loud one.

"Or someone to _cause_ a distraction."

Natasha turned to him at that, eyes dark. "No." She hissed instantly.

"When they leave, you get down that tunnel as fast as possible and meet up at the point. Clint will probably already be there when you do." He explained, completely ignoring her remark. "I'll meet you both there as soon as I lose them."

Natasha wrapped her icy grip around his arm. "Rogers. I swear to God..." She snarled. "It's too dangerous. We'll find another way around."

He turned to her. "Natasha. More and more officers are starting to patrol as we speak. And the second they're done here, they'll move onto the next block. And the next. How do you propose we avoid them? Better question: how are we supposed to avoid _all_ of them?" He asked, gesturing to the crowds of people still walking down the streets.

He pulled his hoodie down farther over his face. "This is the fastest way we're getting out of here without blowing our cover. We still have to meet up with the others and tell them what we've learned. And we can't do that from a jail cell." He growled.

"Which is why this is a stupid idea." Natasha seethed, though she knew it was useless to argue. Unless she had concrete evidence that there was another _effective_ way around this, there was to be no stopping him. Steve was _dangerously_ stubborn at times. Almost as much as he was reckless. She knew that almost as well as anyone _could._

He moved closer to the street, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll meet you two in ten minutes."

She glared back at him, folding her arms over her chest. "Not if they catch you." She muttered.

Steve rested his hand on the cold wall once again as he stared out at the crowd. "They won't." He murmured before moving out of the alleyway. Natasha walked him with narrowed eyes before letting out an annoyed huff. He was right. They wouldn't.

It didn't take long for the cops to whip their attention to the suspicious hooded figure, especially when he threw a trashcan through a department store window. Unbeknownst to the cops, Natasha was rolling her eyes as she leaned up against the back alley wall, muttering something about an _over-dramatic idiot_ under her breath.

 _Well...I got their attention._ Steve muttered to himself as he quickly began to push and shove past pedestrians as he ran. He could hear the sound of shouts behind him as well as the distant sound of sirens slowly approaching. Stealing a single glance over his shoulder, he was just _barely_ able to make out a single head of red hair swishing around the crowd, quickly making its way towards the subway.

Giving a satisfied nod, he turned back around and hissed in frustration at the approaching intersection. Thankfully, the light turned red just as he approached, his arms slamming down onto the hood of one of the cars as he slid himself overtop it.

Rolling along the ground as he dodged past the others, he quickly jumped back up to his feet and continued on. The shouts behind him continued to grow both in size and number as he ran, his eyes sliding back to catch a glimpse.

Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes and began to pump more into his legs, realizing he could easily outrun the officers without even breaking a sweat. Still, he had to keep them distracted long enough for Natasha to escape, meaning he had to keep them on his tail for as long as he possibly could.

He was thrown from his thoughts as two police cruisers shot forward from the street, blocking his path along the oncoming intersection. Cursing under his breath, the man noticed the break in the building walls just a little farther up ahead. Running towards the cars, the officers shouted at him as he hid his face and squeezed through, entering the long alleyway.

He grunted as he jumped over the rotting piles of wooden boxes, officers rounding the corner as they began to fill the alleyway behind him. Eyes catching the tall chain-link fence on the other side of the path, Steve thew another small glance behind him before leaping up, fingers wrapping around the cold metal as he began to pull himself up. Flipping over the top, he landed with a grunt on the other side, fingers still latched around the metal as he stared out at the other side, the officers quickly approaching.

Blinking in realization, he turned his head away before they could get any closer, turning back around as the officers reached the fence. "Stop right there or we will open fire!" One voice rang out clearer among the others.

Steve couldn't help but growl in frustration before staring back down at the path. At the fence, the dirt path sloped downward to a lower level of the street, which was much less crowded than the main street.

Leaping away from the fence, Steve felt his feet slide against the mud as he sloped down the path. He winced as gunshots began to fill his ears, instinctively curling himself in tighter as he tried to make himself seem as small as possible.

Another cruiser pulled up along the street where he'd turned up, two more officers stepping out, their guns raised. "Put your hands in the air! Do it!" One of them yelled before Steve rushed past them, leaping over their car as he rolled along the ground right as the bullets shot past.

After another second, his legs were pumping once again, the wind whipping past him as he ran, stinging his face and making his eyes water at the sharp slap. Rounding the corner, his eyes made out the noticeable shape of the nearby fruit stand sitting near the street. Pushing forward, he reached his hand out and slammed his arm down against the wooden posts of the stand, fruit and wooden splinters flying behind him.

He winced internally at the action, having become acutely aware of just how much damage he and his teammates actually caused in their endeavors, an action that didn't _not_ stem from the entire Accords mess. Still, couldn't say he didn't have good reason. In fact, Steve was beginning to suspect this had gone on for long enough.

Eyes scanning for another route, the man noticed another break in the buildings across the street, similar the alleyway he'd just popped out of. Only this one had a fire escape leading up to the rooftops.

Narrowing his eyes, the man pushed off and began to make for the building, realizing Natasha had to have made it underground by now. The officers were still in hot pursuit from what he could hear, but it didn't matter much anymore. Gunshots continued to ring out around him as he tried to run in a haphazard manner, ducking and dodging with no real set pattern as his movements became more and more sporadic.

Finally, he reached the other side of the street, his breath billowing out around him as he eyed the fire railing. The shouts were growing louder now. The cops from before must have finally found a way around the fence.

Gritting his teeth Steve jumped up and wrapped his fingers around the rusted railing of the fire escape. The metal creaked and groaned underneath his weight, but he was able to pull himself up fairly quickly.

He hissed as a bullet grazed his leg, but continued on nevertheless. Pieces of brick flew out from the wall where the bullets were beginning to hit it, but he kept climbing until his hand wrapped around the very top ledge of the building. Flipping himself over, he brushed his fingers against the ground before leaping back up, running along the rooftop before coming to the ledge once again.

He didn't even pause before he was launching himself from the rooftop, soaring in the air for just a second before he was rolling along the roof of the next building over. He continued to leap from one building to the next for what seemed like forever until the sound of gunshots no longer met his ears and the sirens were nothing but a distant cry.

Landing on one final rooftop, the man rolled along the ground once again, the gravel sticking to his arms and legs as he crouched there, small pants escaping his lips as the cold air gripped his lungs tightly. He took a small breath as he slowly rose back up to his feet, chest heaving slightly.

The wind blew past him, sharply blowing his hoodie off of his head as his hair whipped along his face. He stared out over the city, the sun steadily rising in the sky despite the numerous dark clouds slowly rolling in.

Despite the small nag in his head refuting the idea, Steve couldn't help but reach his gaze farther, making out the distant sight of flashing red and blue lights as well as the numerous officers still milling around the streets.

He stared at the sight for a moment longer before he let out a deep, pained sigh. Turning away, Steve slowly lowered himself down to the ground, resting his forearms on his knees as he plopped down, leaning the back of his head against the ledge as he closed his eyes, a deep pang of disappointment settling in his chest that seemed to cause much more damage than any bullet fired at him.

Bullets that were fired by the _good guys._ For despite the fact that they hadn't seen his face, it was impossible to forget that he - Captain America - Golden Boy of the United States - National Hero in the eyes of millions - was now a criminal.

* * *

**Thursday - March 31, 2016**

**Location Unknown**

**10:03 a.m.**

The sharp crimson glow coming from her eyes cast long shadows along the concrete floor of the warehouse as Wanda opened her eyes, her body settling back down onto the dirty surface from where it had once been hovering.

She let out a small breath as she stole a small glance towards the main entrance door of the warehouse. From where she was sitting in the far left corner of the structure, she could make out the steel door from across the room had yet to be opened.

She turned away, having been expecting as much. After all, their mission was not to be a short one. Stakeouts could be long and tedious, so there was truly no telling when they would be back.

Still, she couldn't help but peek over at the door from time to time in between her meditations, despite the constant flare of annoyance that spiked within her every time. _Stop being so ridiculous._ She scolded herself as she shook her head and closed her eyes once more. _They'll be fine. They're professionals._ She thought, trying to resist the small pang of hurt that sparked at that thought, realizing it was probably the reason they hadn't brought her or Scott along.

With a final growl of frustration, the young woman tightly squeezed her eyes closed as she took another deep breath. She had to refocus. Now that she wasn't fighting or going on missions as constantly as she had been before as an official Avenger, she'd had less and less reason to use her magic.

Without a proper discharge, the energy was starting to build up inside her, something she knew could be extremely dangerous if not treated properly. Meditation seemed to help.

Of course, if she could only focus long enough to actually _do_ it...

Slowly calming her nerves, the girl released the tension in her eyes and her muscles as she inhaled deeply, feeling the cold air seep into her lungs as she flexed her fingers once again. Crossing her legs, she focused on feeling each and every breath she took, noting how her chest expanded before falling loose once more.

Gently, she began to twirl her fingers around in the air, the familiar burn of her magic culminating in her chest. Slowly, small wisps of red trails began to rise up from her fingertips, seeping through her skin and pooling around her chest.

Her hair began to flare out slightly, blowing around her shoulders as her body began to levitate off of the ground, the wisps of red swirling around her gently in a whirlwind of crimson energy. She could feel it in her heart. In her fingers, her skin, her eyes. The comforting warmth of her magic flowing through her body. The gripping sensation of her nerves pulsing loudly as every cell in her body seemed to glow with fire. Her eyes burned underneath her eyelids, the skin glowing a faint red through the skin.

Instantly, all the tension she'd been feeling before seemed to evaporate as she was enveloped in the comforting touch, her magic seeming to wash away the frustrations, the anger, the pain.

She let out a small breath as her body relaxed, fingers flying effortlessly as her hair gently billowed out around her. For a single moment, for the first time since everything had turned rotten, Wanda felt at peace.

Until Scott started humming.

Closed eyes twitching slightly, she tried to concentrate on the swirling tendrils of magic, only for his humming to rise an octave. With a small growl of frustration, she opened her eyes and dropped back to the ground, glaring over into the corner, where Scott currently lay sprawled out on his dusty mattress, one leg propped up on his knee, arms folded underneath his head as he hummed.

She let out an exasperated sigh as she placed one elbow on her knee and propped her cheek up with her fist. "Do you _have_ to do that so loudly?" She muttered with a cocked brow.

Scott pushed himself up onto his elbows and threw her a look. "Well what do you _expect_ me to do?" He tossed one arm out dismissively. "I feel like I'm going crazy over here!"

Wanda shook her head. "Why don't you try meditating?" She asked as she turned away and closed her eyes, concentrating back on her magic once again.

"Is _that_ what you were doing? I thought you just took sleepwalking to the extreme or something."

The girl let out a loud sigh as she dropped her head, her chin nearly hitting her chest. The thought of tying up and gagging the man with her magic had just entered her mind when the soft sound of engines reached her ears, her head shooting back up. She met Scott's gaze. They'd both heard it. And the noise was steadily growing louder.

"Someone's coming." She voiced what they both were thinking, the words barely having left her mouth before the two of them were on their feet and moving towards hte center of the warehouse. Along the center spine of the structure stood five large cement pillars that were nearly as big around as small cars, the space between them about as far apart as _three_ of said cars.

Quickly rushing to stand behind the large structures, both Wanda and Scott shared confused glances. The others weren't due to be back for at least another couple of hours. SO who else could have possibly found them?

Wanda was already pooling crimson magic into the palms of her hand when the main door to the warehouse opened up with an ear-piercing shriek, the steel door swinging hard into the wall with a _BANG!_

The two winced at the noise, but instantly relaxed once they saw who it was coming in through the door. Of course, the looks on their teammates faces made a small twinge of unease course through their guts, so that was a slight negative.

"You're back? Already?" Scott asked, cocking his head as he and Wanda stepped out from their hiding places. Cling brushed past them as he shrugged his jacket off and practically threw it onto the metal racks bolted to the wall. "We kinda didn't have much of a choice." He growled.

THe two confused parties turned to Natasha as she moved closer. "The cops showed up." She sighed, moving to the rack as well to remove her jacket. Scott's eyes widened. "You serious?" He gaped.

"Dozens of them." Sam muttered, removing the metal pack from his back. "Apparently, they're doing patrols along the major city streets trying to flush us out."

Wanda stepped forward, eyes hard. "They didn't see you, did they?"

Natasha gave a small scoff. "No. Captain Moron over here took care of that." She motioned her head towards Steve, who brushed past her to remove his own jacket. "We're here, aren't we?" He muttered, throwing her an annoyed look, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes.

Wanda watched the silent exchange between the two and chalked it up to a spat that had occurred during their mission as she folded her arms over her chest. "I thought we send Sam out just so this _didn't_ happen."

Steve shook his head. "Well, apparently that didn't work all too well for us." He sighed.

Scott glanced back at the others before taking a step forward. "So, do they really think we're still in the city?" He asked, glancing around. "Or do they think we've already moved on and are just looking for any clues as to where we _might_ have gone?"

Several glances were exchanged before all eyes landed on Steve. The man stared back at them for a moment before shaking his head and lowering his gaze. "I don't know."

Natasha pursed her lips as she moved past the group. Near the back wall, they'd pushed up an old, abandoned wooden table they'd found out back against the side wall, a few rusted chairs leaning up against it.

Taking out her gun, the woman placed the weapon on the table as she took a seat in one of the chairs, pulling a small rag from her pocket as she began to wipe the cloth over the metal of the pistol. "Well, that's gonna determine just how far we can push our missions now." She explained, glancing back towards the others as they all moved to stand around the table as well. "If we have every cop in the city looking for us, then you can pretty much erase any and all plans of us stepping two feet from this place unless we want the entire police force up out asses." She muttered.

Scott let out a humorless scoff. "Well, that's just great. That's...that's _fantastic."_

Steve raised a hand and rubbed his fingers against his eyes as Wanda spoke up once again. "Did you at least find anything out? Anything we can use?" She urged.

"We think we might have gotten their main base of operations for now." Sam explained. "They mentioned something about Mackview. I'm assuming that's the name of the city area it's in, but I've never heard of it before." He sighed, glancing over at Steve, who shook his head as well, signifying he didn't know either.

"I'm guessing it's a warehouse of sorts. Kind of like this one." The super soldier interjected. "It'll have to be big if it's their main base."

Scott lifted his head back up. "Well, did you find out if they really _are_ working with that... _Hydra-_ thing?"

Steve gave him a strange look at the name as Clint responded for him. "Nope. The cops made sure of that." The archer muttered back with a sharp look in his eyes. A look that had been growing ever-more persistent with each day that passed.

"What do you mean?" Wanda asked as Steve slowly moved over towards Natasha and took a seat next to her, propping his elbow up on the table as he let out a deep sigh, running a hand down his face. "They were talking about some sort of deal. A big one." He started.

"The buyers are apparently a group of shady characters that might be what we're looking for." He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. "I mean, this kind of stuff would be right up their ally. Ever since SHIELD fell, most of the HYDRA sleeper agents had to go undercover just to remain in hiding, so they'll more likely than not, jump at the opportunity to score some mass weapons like these."

He grimaced slightly. "Of course, we had to leave before we could actually get any more out of them."

"So we're pretty much back to square one." Sam chided as he moved over towards the back wall and slid down to the floor, not bothering in reaching for a chair as he simply sat down on the ground resting his back against the cold concrete wall.

Scott glanced around at the others, taking in their faces holding looks ranging from worry to disgust to frustration. He quirked a brow as he tentatively raised his hand. Clint eyes him strangely as he tossed his hand in the air. "Why are you always raising your hand, man? Just speak!"

He blinked at the response before lowering his hand. "Right, right...um...I- sorry, but I was just...like, can you tell me again what's so special about these guns?" He asked, tilting his head as he awkwardly folded his arms behind his back as to avoid raising them once again.

Natasha glanced over at him. "You remember that alien invasion in New York back in 2012?" She asked, Scott instantly nodding his head. "Yeah! That shit was crazy! For the longest time, we all thought it was some sort of practical joke or publicity stunt until every news station in the frikkin _universe_ started reporting on it." He scoffed.

"Yeah well, these weapons are made from the same shit as that alien tech." Clint muttered as Natasha piped up once again. "Meaning if handled correctly, it could slice through steel like warm butter and blow up three city blocks. And that's just for starters." She growled.

Scott blinked at them for a moment before giving a small nod, smacking his lips together awkwardly. "Mkay. So...weapons bad. No weapons. Got it." He gave a small thumbs up, most of the others rolling their eyes as they turned back towards Steve.

"So what do we do now? If everybody's on watch like you said, then it's gonna be a while until you can get any information about these guys again." Wanda stated, placing her hands on her hips as she gave the man an inquisitive look.

Before he could respond, however, Clint was standing back up, placing his palms down on the surface of the table. "I'll tell you what we do." He narrowed his eyes. "We say here and remain low until this all blows over."

The others glanced over at Clint, eyes wide in shock at the man's claim. Steve shook his head, eyes hard. "That's not an option." He exclaimed, his tone rough.

Clint turned to him. "Cap, come on!" He exclaimed, leaning closer. "It's _suicide_ to go out there now and you know it!" He snapped, jabbing a finger in the man's direction.

The soldier didn't back down. "We can't just stop now. Not when we know what we do. Now when we can do something." He replied, fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

Scott shook his head. "Yeah, nuh-uh. That's a terrible idea." He interjected, eyes wide.

"So that's your plan? You're just going to hide here like cowards?" Wanda hissed, eyes narrowed as she curled her lips, not understanding in the _slightest_ why they seemed so adamant in staying hidden and away from danger.

Clint stared at her for a second, eyes hard as he opened his mouth to say something, only for Scott to beat him to it. The usually-chipper man was now excreting an aura of anger as he glared down at the girl. "No. We're hiding like guys with something to lose." He muttered, tone dark and grim. "And I'm not going to jeopardize any more by going out there and trying to catch some common thugs that may or may not have had a few dealings with some ex-HYDRO agents."

"HYDRA." Sam corrected.

"Whatever. I have way too much to lose." The man sighed, folding his arms as he turned away, eyes glaring hard at the concrete floor below.

Steve hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the man's sudden shift in behavior. In the short amount of time he'd known him, Steve had never seen Scott react in such a way. Though, of course, he knew the exact reason why he had. Wanda had struck a nerve. A pretty sensitive one by the looks of it.

"Look, I know this is risky." Sam cut in, stepping forward. "And if it were anything else, I would be right there with you guys, Clint." He started. "But coming from someone who's experienced what these guys can do _firsthand_ , I have to agree with Cap." He sighed. "We can't take that chance. Not with HYDRA."

"So why do _we_ have to do this then?" The archer asked, eyes narrowed as his fingers curled slightly. "Why is that our responsibility?"

Steve raised his head, eyes hard. "Cause it's our job." He stressed, slightly surprised at the words coming out of the man's mouth. "Whether people want us to do it or not, it's our duty as heroes. This is what we signed up for."

Wanda shook her head, hands shaking. "No. I didn't sign up to be chased like a rat by the very people we are trying to protect." She snapped. "I didn't sign up to be treated like a criminal when we haven't even done anything wrong."

"There's plenty of people out there who would disagree with that." Natasha muttered, staring at the girl with an unimpressed look.

"So then why don't we just leave this to the assholes who put us in this situation in the first place?" Clint growled. "Why don't we let _them_ take care of it?"

Steve stood up from his seat by the table. "How could they possibly know about this?" He asked. "The only way they could find out is if one of us let them know." He explained as Natasha tilted her head, jutting in. "And I don't think any of them would be too keen on listening to the word of a couple of criminals."

"We _aren't_ criminals!" Wanda glared, Clint seething right next to her.

Natasha stood her ground. "We are to _them."_ She scoffed, glancing over towards the exit.

Before anyone else could shout in a few more arguments, Scott was raising up his hand again, quickly putting it down when Clint glared at him. "I don't know about that." He added anyways. "If any of you ever _bothered_ to get on social media, you'd see for yourselves." He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, continuing when the others gestured impatiently for him to go on. "There's tons of people on Twitter who side with us, and I'm sure there's plenty more on Facebook and Instagram and all those other sites, too."

Sam couldn't help but snort as he waved his hand. "Oh, that's great! That's just what we need. An army of teenage, geeky, hormonal fans backing us up." He rolled his eyes. "We're a force to be reckoned with now!"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Enough." He growled, the grumbling scattering around the room instantly silencing at the word. "I know this is dangerous, especially for you two." He glanced over at Clint and Scott, the former folding his arms and looking away while the latter glanced down at his feet, a regrettable look marring his face.

"But that's the job." He continued. "If we sat back and did nothing, when we _knew_ what was happening, when we had the chance to stop it, then that really does make us the bad guys." He murmured.

Clint stared at him incredulously. "Us? Seriously? No, no, no. We are _not_ the bad guys here. We were _never_ the bad guys!" He shouted.

Sam shook his head. "Then how come we're the ones who've gotta hide?" He muttered, glaring down at the floor.

"Cause we're the ones that lost." Natasha sighed. "I know it isn't fair I know it isn't right. And I know you're all angry." She looked around the room at all of them, the tensions mounting with each new person that threw out their opinion. "But at the end of the day, that's what this all boils down to. We're the ones that came out on the bottom. So this is the consequence we have to deal with." She explained, leaving out the part where she believed they kinda deserved it, realizing it would probably just make things worse.

Clint leveled her a cool stare for a moment, silence ringing out around the warehouse before he spoke again, his voice low. "Even realizing that, you still wanna try and get through to Stark."

The atmosphere instantly froze over as tensions rose to insurmountable heights at the mention of the man's name. Steve glared back at the archer. "Clint, don't start." He warned, tone low and dangerous.

"No, seriously!" The man continued, realizing he'd struck a nerve and digging in deeper. "I'm sure you didn't tell him about this little mission of ours, huh, Nat?" HE asked, the mocking tone of his voice making Natasha curl her fists, grateful her gun was now sitting on the table surface, slightly out of her reach.

"Doesn't surprise me." Wanda muttered, eyes glowing a pale crimson as she spoke. "Stark doesn't care about anything other than himself." She spat out the name like it physically burned her to speak it. "He probably thinks this is beneath him, which is most likely why he isn't even doing anything." He growled.

Steve took a step closer, fists clenched. "This isn't about Stark."

"It's _all_ about Stark!" Clint snapped. "Cause this all leads back to him! If he hadn't sided with those government asshats, if he'd actually gone along with his, oh I don't know - **teammates,** then we wouldn't even _be_ in this mess now!" He shouted back.

"Enough, you guys." Nat tried to start.

Wanda glared at them. "Why should _he_ get to be the one who comes out on top?" She snarled. "You said it yourself," She glanced over at Steve. "We all made mistakes here, so why is it that _he_ still gets to show his face without getting shot at?!"

"You-"

"Because that's how it always it." She continued, deciding to answer the question herself. "No matter what. All he has to do is wave around a few dollars, flash a couple grins and whatever consequences he might have faced are mysteriously washed away." She growled, glancing over at Sam, the man having said nothing yet. He stared up at her, switching his gaze towards Steve and Nat before his eyes fell back to the floor, a deep sigh falling from his lips. "She's got a point." He muttered, Scott giving a small nod from his position near the wall.

"Exactly!" She shouted. "It's happened before and it'll _keep_ happening. Cause that's what people like Stark do. Whatever they want to whoever they want to do it to!" She snarled, the sharp red tint of her eyes growing more and more piercing.

Steve stepped forward. "Stop trying t-"

"No way, Cap!" Clint growled. "Don't try and tell me we're the ones at fault here. Cause at the end of the say, this is Stark's doing. He's the one who did this to us."

" **I know!"**

Five heads whipped around to stare at Steve, his voice still ringing around the room as he glared at them. "I know that! I know what he did. I know it was wrong. I know the Accords were just as dangerous then as they are now." He growled. "But we also did this to ourselves. You can't possibly think, Clint, that when you _willingly_ joined us to fight against the Accords that there wouldn't be any repercussions. I warned you before you joined up." He snapped, glaring at the archer. "You're the one that came along. Nobody forced you. Not even Stark."

"Oh, give me a _fucking_ break!" Clint snapped.

"No you know what-"

Instantly, the room was swept up in a frenzy of angry shouts and furious words as the group tangled themselves up in a whirlwind of arguing, the room filling with the sound of everyone's voices as they struggled to be heard over the others, battling for dominance.

The only person who seemed to be incredibly unsure of himself t the moment was Scott, who was staring at the frenzy with wide eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. He winced inwardly at some of the comments he could hear as he lifted a finger and opened his mouth, trying for a moment to get a word in, only to sigh and curl the finger downwards when he realized there was no point.

He turned away just as the back door to the warehouse creaked, his body going rigid as the door slowly cracked open. His eyes stayed locked onto the sight as he turned his body slightly. "Uh...guys?" He called, voice shaking slightly. Judging from the continuing whirlwind that was going on behind him, he was pretty sure the warning had gone right over their heads.

"Guys?"

The door was now fully open now, the new figure standing in the open doorway as the sunlight spilling inside from the new opening shrouding the figure in darkness as the flooding lights cast their long shadow along the warehouse floor. Scott stared for a moment longer, the shouted finally making his hands curl.

" **GUYS!"**

"What?!" Clint shouted as he whirled around, the shouting instantly dying down as they all turned and caught sight of the figure. However, before any of them could truly react, the new person was already talking.

"Jesus Christ. No wonder Fury's getting more and more in-touch with his name nowadays." The woman muttered as she walked inside, a large silver briefcase hanging from her hand. Moving away from the door, the lighting adjusted against her skin so that they could now see just who they were dealing with. She had light pale skin and dark brown hair that was tired back into a ponytail, one hand casually stuffed into her jacket pocket.

"You all really _are_ acting like idiots." Hill grunted as she walked over.

Steve let out a small sigh as he saw her. "Sorry. You...kinda caught us at a bad time." He moaned as a few tense looks were shared around the table. Maria caught all of them as she raised a brow. "Really? You know, I didn't really get that. The screaming and shouting were _so_ subtle." She scoffed as she set the case down onto the table before turning back to the others.

"Extra food and clothes are in the trunk, as usual." She explained, Steve nodding as he glanced over at Sam and Clint. Sam gave a nod of his own as they moved to go and get the new supplies from the car, the archer lingering for a moment as he leveled Steve a hard stare before letting out a soft growl and stalking out.

The soldier let out a soft sigh as he lowered his gaze before focusing it on the two remaining Avengers. "You think you can give us a second?" He asked, staring back at their most recent additions.

Wanda and Scott shared small looks with each other before letting out frustrated sighs of their own, leaving the table to stalk off to their respective corners of the warehouse. Maria watched them leave, making sure they were out of earshot before she turned back towards Steve and Natasha.

"What the hell was _that_ all about?"

Steve hesitated for a moment, casting Natasha a small glance, to which the assassin merely raised a brow. He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about." He finally settled on as he moved over towards the table, sitting down once again.

"Just the usual bullshit that you morons are always bickering about nowadays." Maria corrected him as she moved to sit as well, Natasha grabbing a chair on her other side as the woman leaned closer. "And by the way, you're kinda _making_ me worry about it. Which, I'd like to add, is a major inconvenience." She muttered, straightening back up as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Do you know how hard it is to convince Nick that I'm actually on mission right now?" SHe asked, not bothering for an answer. "That man is more paranoid than you guys." She scoffed.

Natasha cast the woman a look. "So he still doesn't know you're helping us?"

Hill let out a soft snort. "God, no. Do you know what he'd do if he found out? He'd make me bring him along the next time we meet just so he could beat some sense into you." She threw the pair a small glare. "And quite frankly, I'm a little tempted to let him", she added.

Steve glanced away, an exasperated look marring his face. "Maria, look w-"

"Don't bother, Steve." She cut him off as she lifted a hand, the other currently resting against her hip. "I don't want to hear your excuses." She muttered. "Why do you think I'm staying away from Stark Tower? If I wanted to get involved in your little hissy fit, that's the first place I would have gone."

Natasha lifted a brow. "You say that...yet here you are." She smirked

The other woman twitched her lips."Yeah, cause stupid or not..." She trailed off for a moment before continuing. "...I still don't want to see you all locked up." The small look of concern was quickly replaced with another annoyed look as she spoke again. "You just make it so goddamn _hard,_ though! I mean, sending Sam out as a red herring? Come on! Seriously?!" She snapped, tossing her hands out before slapping them down on the sides of her legs.

Steve grimaced at that. "Alright, not our _best_ move..." HE moved closer. "But we're still grateful to you. For everything you're doing for us." He added, eyes conveying a look of sincerity Hill was pretty sure nobody could truly mimic. Not even the best con. And she would know, for she really _did_ know the best con.

The woman looked away, giving a small nod as she folded her arms over her chest once again. "I brought what you asked for. Along with the usual stuff." She said right as Sam and Clint returned through the main doors, lugging in arm-fulls of boxes.

As they moved closer and dropped the boxes on the floor near the table, they noticed an assortment of rolled up papers sitting atop of of the large containers. Reaching over, Hill plucked up the paper roll and dropped it onto the table, unfurling it along the surface.

The two recent presences moved closer to the table as Sam cocked a brow questioningly.

"A map?" He asked, glancing up at the others. "What the hell do we need a map for?" He asked. After all, Steve had grown up here. Sure that had been around seventy years ago, but he was still pretty sure the man at least knew most of the basic in's and out's they needed to be familiar with.

As if he knew the question was directed at him, Steve stared down at the map as he spoke. "Well, we might not have gotten their buyers, but we _did_ manage to figure out where their main export center is." He explained before pointing down at a specific spot on the map. "Mackview. I knew that name sounded familiar. I just didn't remember from where." He straightened himself back up and crossed his arms. "Mackview Shipping and Storage Center. It's right by the docks." He stated.

Natasha continued for him. "We'll have to wait till nightfall, then we can suit up and take this place down." He explained. At the skeptical looks that were created from the statement, the super soldier took the lead again. "I know this isn't much, but they said it was their main center of production. So if we can take this place down, we can at least slow them down for a little while." He reasoned.

Clint shook his head, but said nothing as he looked away. His unspoken words still hung in the air, however. Steve narrowed his eyes, but took a calming breathe and moved closer, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Listen, Clint. I know how you feel about this. I know how much you're putting on the line here." The archer didn't look up. "But I promise you that I will try my hardest to make sure this team stays safe. I will not let you all get locked back up in that prison." He stated, his words strong and clear.

The surety of his voice, however, seemed to have little effect on Clint as he turned to give the man a cold stare. "There won't be much you can do about it when you're locked up right alongside us." He muttered softly before pulling away, striding past the table and its occupants and he stalked off.

Steve watched him go, a small sigh of despair sliding past his lips. He knew Clint would stay by their side, no matter what. They'd come this far. He wasn't going to just back out anytime soon. He'd proven that time and time already. Still...Steve wasn't blind to the fact of just how much resentment, frustration and sadness the archer was holding in himself. Feeling that all came down to Steve and his past actions. His past mistakes.

He didn't even bother turning his head as he spoke once more. "Did you check on Laura?"

Maria nodded. "Just like you asked."

"And?"

Both Natasha and Sam also looked towards her as the woman sighed. "She misses him. They all do." She revealed the obvious statement before continuing. "But...they're doing alright. Laura's a strong girl. She can handle herself." She reassured them.

Steve shook his head all the same. "She shouldn't have to."

Natasha glance back at her. "And Scott's?" She asked, remembering the other family man on their team.

"They're fine, too." Hill explained. "His daughter misses him, though. SHe's a cute kid. Nice girl." She smiled, before the calm look evaporated from her face. She turned back towards the super soldier. "Steve, you have _got_ to fix this." SHe stressed. "I don't care what you have to do. You have got to meet with Tony. You two _have_ to work this out." She growled, stalking closer.

"I didn't fill you in on the suspected HYDRA coup just because it's...well _you._ I did it so you'd come back to the city. Cause this isn't going to go away if you just ignore it, no matter what Stark seems to want to think." SHe muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"Cause it's not just this team who's suffering. The national crime rate has spiked since the Avengers disbanded. Terrorist sightings and attacks are becoming more frequent and the number of enhanced individuals stirring up trouble is beginning to become a problem." She breathed. "I mean, Rhodey's the closest thing to a defense line the government's got nowadays. The people still _trust_ him, so that's about all they can use. And SHIELD..." She paused.

"Well...let's just say we're still trying to find out bearings since..."

Cap held up a hand. "Yeah...I know." He muttered.

Hill raised him her hands to tighten the hold on her ponytail. "That's the only way I was able to leak those files on he dealings to you guys. I mean, SHIELD's so busy nowadays trying to deal with the boost in enhanced people as well as actually try and stand back up on our feet after the shitstorm a few years ago to some things are bound to slip through the cracks. Especially when they're given a little push." She scoffed.

Steve gave a small nod. "Well, even rebuilding SHIELD from the ground up seems easier than this." He sighed. "It's...complicated."

"Well, _un_ -complicate it." Hill growled. "And fast. Cause the world's not gonna wait until you two kiss and make nice. And it sure isn't getting any better. Not without the Avengers."

The remaining three around the table all shared knowing glances. Of course, they'd already come to realize such a fact. But having someone actually say it out loud...it just made it all the more real to them.

Maria noticed the looks before letting out a sigh of her own, rubbing at the back of her neck as she shut her eyes. "I have to go. Nick's expecting me to report in in about two hours, and if my broadcasting signal isn't pinging from Miami like I told him it would, I'm gonna get a drone following me everywhere I go." She muttered.

With that, the woman silently made her way towards the door she'd originally come in from. Casting one last look over her shoulder as the disheveled gang that had once been the world's most formidable team, she let out another small breath before turning back around, pushing past the door as it slammed behind her, the sound echoing throughout the empty building.

Steve stared at the door for a moment before turning back towards the table, running a hand down his face as he groaned tiredly. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, the small glance he cast recognizing it as Natasha.

The assassin gave him a pat and a small smile. "You're lucky she hasn't kicked your ass yet." She scoffed with a smirk.

With that, Steve actually gave a surprising huff of amusement. "It's only a matter of time." He muttered. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose from the other side of the table. "Alright. So, you all wanna explain to me just what _exactly_ we're gonna be doing tonight?"

"To _all_ of us."

The three whipped around to find that Wanda and Scott had returned, the looks on their faces making it clear that they weren't leaving again. Behind them, Clint stood off to the side, looking resigned.

Steve stared down at the map of the city while Natasha lifted up the silver case Hill has dropped off, placing it down on the table. Flipping the latches, the opened the large case to reveal the numerous assortments of newly loaded weapons, arrows, guns and any other tech that could possible give them any semblance of a chance to survive.

The super soldier didn't look over at the weapons, and neither did the others. Their soul focus was on him. He stared down at the map, the names, the street ways. He narrowed his eyes as he replayed Sam's last question over in his head. _What_ are _we doing?_ He repeated to himself.

He could feel the stares of the others as they gazed at him. Looking at him for the answers. For direction. For instructions. He knew they didn't have to. _They_ knew they didn't have to. But they'd followed him into this. And they'd be damned if they weren't going to follow him the rest of the way.

He let out a small breath as he raised himself back up, turning around to face the others.

"We do what we can."

* * *

**Thursday - March 31, 2016**

**Location Unknown**

**06:02 p.m.**

The sun was nothing but a frothing ball of warm tones and dulling rays as the sky melted into a warm swirling mix of deep purples, light pinks and bright yellows, a sight that was reflected perfectly in the shimmering waters of the bay.

The window he currently sat next to blew small guts of brisk spring air into his face. The creaking metal of the catwalk shifted and groaned with every twitch he made, but Steve didn't really care. His back sat pressed against the wall, the window allowing the cool air to filter in next to him, blowing his hair gently across his forehead, licking his skin in soft, calming strokes.

The warehouse ceiling above groaned softly as the building settled, the noise mingling into the background as Steve stared out at the view before him. Ever since their _"banishment"_ , each of his teammates had chosen a particular spot they'd frequent the most, and his just happened to be the metallic catwalk hanging above their heads. In all honesty, Steve was more surprised that Clint hadn't claimed this spot.

Lord knew that guy loved his fair share of heights. Or even _more_ than his fair share.

At the thought of the man, Steve's face twitched in slight agitation as his mind jumped back the conversation that had taken place a few hours ago, when he'd gone over their plan.

Without any true information on the mysterious buyers, there was a pretty low chance they'd be able to locate their sale point at the time. So, they'd have to go with their next best option: hitting their main place of manufacturing.

Considering their activities were considered slightly " _illegal"_ nowadays, the team would have to make their move after dark, when they were less likely to be spotted. It'd be a simple mission. Infiltrate. Incapacitate. Bolt. In and out. It would at least buy them some time to come up with another plan to catch up with their buyers as they tried to relocate their supplies and manufacturing point.

In hindsight, the mission seemed to be a simple one. Or...it _would_ have been simple back in the day. At least, that was what his teammates continued to scream at him.

Clint and Scott were still adamant in keeping to the shadows, reluctant to put themselves out there once again considering their stakes in this. Sam was hesitant, but Steve knew the man would follow him into anything, so he at least knew the man had his back in this. Natasha, well...he was _pretty_ sure she was on board. Then again, you could never be too sure with her. She wasn't one to wear her emotions out on her sleeve. And Wanda...Wanda was just angry. Angry at Stark, at their predicament, at _them_ for hiding in the first place, for herself for being one of the reasons for said concealment. But as Steve had told her before, might as well put that anger to good use.

Steve wasn't stupid. He wasn't an idiot. He knew just how dangerous it was to be putting himself and the others out there considering how many people wanted to hang them out to dry. But...he couldn't just stand around and do nothing with the chance that HYDRA was still on the rise. SHIELD had done that, and look at where they were now.

He knew what they were capable of firsthand. He knew how dangerous they could be if they were left unchecked, if they were allowed to grow and fester in the shadows until it was too bad to handle and contain.

He wasn't going to let that happen again.

The man let out a sigh as he stole a glance away from the window and cast his gaze down at the ground below, where his teammates were either resting, training, or ambling restlessly to pass the time.

He just wished they could _understand._

Staring down at the broken group below him, it was obvious that something was missing. _Someone_ was missing. The same someone who could either lighten people's spirits, or drag them even further down by being such a deliberate asshole, and even then, he still managed to at least make someone _smirk._

Despite the torrent of hate and repressed anger that most of his teammates were holding for him, it was obvious that Tony was a crucial piece their machine was sorely missing, something that was taking a toll on all of them, on the Avengers name itself.

The worst part about all of it was that he knew it was him. _He_ was the reason this was all happening. Granted Tony wasn't exempt from blame, but Steve wasn't either. None of them were. Steve gave a small shake of his head as the regrettable actions morphed into even _more_ regrettable thoughts.

He should have listened. He should have reasoned. He should...he should have _stayed._

But he hadn't. _They_ hadn't. And the Avengers were taking a hit for it. Because they couldn't just sit down at talk to each other. The super soldier closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. It sounded simple enough. Sit and listen for once, from both sides, and _maybe_ they'd have a chance of reviving everything they'd lost.

But Steve knew what would really happen.

They'd sit. They'd talk. The talking would turn to yelling. The yelling would turn to fighting. And the fighting would lead to an unfixable relationship rather than a broken one. IT was painful to think about, but it was true. When it came to the two men, Tony and Steve couldn't be more different other than the fact that their stubbornness was on an equal plane, which just made things worse.

So...maybe that was why Steve dreaded the thought of even getting _close_ to Tony. Cause as long as they stayed away from each other, they'd couldn't make it any worse. They couldn't hurt each other any more than they already had.

THe super soldier gave a small shake of his head, fingers twitching by his sides. He couldn't think about this. Not right now. Not when there was a mission that took priority, though in all honesty, he would have taken _anything_ to distract him from his previous thoughts.

Stealing one last glance down at his teammates, the man turned away and instead focused his gaze on the setting sun across the bay. He had a job to do. He had a duty to fufill. And nothing would stop him from completing it.

Not even Tony.

* * *

The bag caved slightly as his fist slammed into the rough, scratched leather surface. The chains hoisting it to the ceiling rattled loudly as it swung back slightly before diving toward him once more. Clint narrowed his eyes and drove his other fist in, tucking his arms close to his body as he repeated. Punch after punch; hit after hit. Sharp. Precise. Cut.

The sweat trickling down his temple made his skin crawl slightly, but wiping it away would have meant stopping, so he just gave a small shake of his head and kept going. He furrowed his brow, gritting his teeth as he punched harder.

His muscles tensed and snapped with each punch and lash, coiling tighter and tighter with each lunge. He could feel his knuckles beginning to peel, seeing as how he hadn't bothered in wrapping them before he'd started. He'd been too pissed off for that.

What the _fuck_ were they thinking? No - scratch that - they _weren't_ thinking! If they were, they never would have even _agreed_ to go on this suicide mission.

They were basing their whole operation, staking their entire setup, on...on a _hunch!_ They didn't even have all the facts and yet they were still gonna go and risk everything just because there was a _chance_ that it could lead to something bigger.

He slammed his knuckles against the hard leather.

No, all they were doing was putting themselves in even more danger. Being even more reckless than they already were, which was saying a lot.

He knew how much this meant to Steve. He knew how much the man had lost to this group, and he knew just how much it pained him to see that they were still active and fighting after everything he'd tried to do to prevent it, to stop it from ever happening again. But he _had_ to know that this wasn't going to do them any good! All it would do was endanger everything they were trying to accomplish. After all, it wasn't like they'd be able to do much to help from prison cells

Loud huffs fell from his lips as he pushed on, his chest heaving slightly at the added strain.

Like it or not, they were fugitives now. Criminals. The law was no longer on their side. _Nobody_ was on their side. The constant FBI surveillance patrols and Special-Ops teams constantly searching for their trails was evidence of this. Things could not be more tense, more _dangerous_ than they were not. Yet here they were, about to try once again to prove that they still had something to give!

The chains rattled loudly above his head, matching in time with each and every hit the bag took.

This wasn't _their_ job. Not anymore. Not when the punishment for getting caught was a lifetime locked away in a floating metal prison. Not when there were other, more _capable_ people who could actually do something about it. Not when there were people who _deserved_ to trouble themselves with dangers like this. Not when it risked him never seeing his loved ones again.

With a loud, final snarl, Clint hurled his fist into the bag, the leather walls buckling as it swung backwards haphazardly, chains squeaking obnoxiously as it rattled off in protest. Letting out a tired huff, the man stepped away from the bag as it swung back towards him, watching it glide past him before continuing on its swinging path.

The man simply stood there for a moment, watching the bag sway back and forth as he breathed heavily, dragging in large gulps of air as he curled and uncurled his fists, feeling each and every individual tear in his knuckles rip even more with each twitch. Reaching a hand up, he wiped away the trails of sweat pooling around his forehead, wincing slightly as some of the liquid dripped onto his scratches.

Turning away, he paused as he caught sight of Scott leaning in the doorway, casually eating chips out of an obnoxiously bright blue bag. Catching sight of Clint now staring at him, the man gave a small wave, crumbs sprinkled around his face.

The archer let out a small huff and rolled his eyes as he moved over towards the side of the small, cement room. "What do you want?" He muttered gruffly as he reached the long wooden table sitting up against one of the back walls. Plucking the small white towel off of the surface, he wiped it over his face and down his neck.

Scott gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing. But, this is the closest thing to TV we got around here so..." He shook the bag of chips before grabbing another handful.

Clint stared at him for a moment longer before blowing a sigh past his lips. "Whatever." He muttered as he reached up and unhooked the sandbag from the ceiling hook. The weight dropped to the floor with a loud bang, the archer walking around it to grab onto the thick chain attached to the front. he tried to ignore the stares of the other man as he dragged the weight over to the back of the room.

Unfortunately, the fact that he was ignoring the man did not seem to be obvious enough as Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey...can...can I ask you something?" He asked, his tone of voice reflecting his uncomfortableness with the situation.

Clint suppressed the urge to drag a hand down his face as he cocked his head, throwing the man an annoyed look. "What?" He huffed, his aggravations still having not left his body, despite the recent beating he'd just unleashed.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck as he began to speak, glancing over towards the side of the room. "So I was thinking about the mission later tonight. I...I still have some _major_ doubts about that, by the way. But, I was just thinking about all the things we've been doing recently and...and all the snooping and sneaking that's been going on, and..." He grimaced slightly. "And I was just wondering something that I've kinda never asked before. Do...do you think..." He trailed off for a moment before clearing his throat once again. "Do you think this is gonna blow over?" He finally asked.

Clint didn't turn to look at him as he moved back over towards the table, grabbing the towel once again. "I mean, don't get me wrong," Scott continued. "I know we kinda, like... _majorly_ broke the law." He puffed out a small huff of amusement that didn't seem to hold any real humor. "But...I mean-" His expression shifted, morphing into a look of unsuredness and slight desperation. "-you guys are like...the _Avengers._ You gotta have some pull _somewhere!"_ He gave a small shake of his head. "There's gotta be some way this can get fixed."

The archer's face twitched slightly as his furrowed eyebrows contorted even more. "That doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon." He uttered darkly, tone grim and cold.

Scott either didn't pick up on such a fact, or chose to ignore it. Clint was willing to bet on the former. "Well, we can't just be on the run forever. I mean, it's kinda not fair." Scott sighed, throwing his hands up in slightly frustration.

Clint's gaze remained locked on the table below him, his eyes hardening at the man's words. His fists clenched around the edge of the wooden surface, his knuckles beginning to whiten as he dug his nails into the old wood. The thick haze that had shrouded his mind whilst he'd unleashed his fury on the punching bag slowly began to creep back into the corners of his mind, growing sharper and darker with each word that spilled out of that idiot's mouth. At least he was right about _something._

It. Wasn't. Fair.

Their newest recruit placed his hands on his hips. "Cause, I don't know about the rest of you, but I kinda miss... _good food."_ He cracked a small smile. "Like, I haven't been to a Baskin Robbins in _forever,_ man." He sighed with a grin. "You know, I could probably still get us a discount if I talk-"

Clint slammed his fist down against the table, the wood splintering slightly under the blow as the man whirled around, Scott's words dying in his mouth as he stared back, wide-eyed at the archer, who's eyes blazed.

" _God,_ do you _ever_ take anything seriously?" He snapped, glaring back at him.

Scott cocked a brow, face scrunching slightly at the sudden rage. "I'm just trying to-" He started, only for Cling to cut him off.

"-make a joke out of _everything,_ like you always do." He growled, stalking closer. "Seriously, just do us all a favor and shut the _hell_ up for once." He snarled, fists shaking at his sides.

Scott's face instantly darkened as he narrowed his eyes. "What the hell, man?" He snapped, not understanding why the man was exploding on him all of a sudden. "I know you're pissed, but you don't have to be an ass about it." He growled, suddenly feeling a lot less cheerful than he had been a moment ago.

" _Pissed_?" Clint echoed. "Ho, no. I'm way past pissed. I'm fucking _furious_. And you waltzing around, babbling like an idiot isn't helping!" He snarled, shutting his eyes as a pained look marred his features for a flash. "I should be home, with my family." The look vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared. "Instead, I'm here, staking everything on...on _suicide_ _missions_ , talking to some moron who shouldn't even _be_ here!"

"You know, _you're_ the ones that came to _me_." Scott snapped with a growl, fists clenching slightly. "This was _your_ fight, and you _dragged_ me into it! So obviously, I'm here for a reason."

Clint folded his arms over his chest. "We were desperate."

Scott let out a harsh scoff. "No, you're _still_ desperate. And you're angry." He tossed his hands up into the air. "And instead of dealing with it like everyone else around here is, you're just holding it in and exploding on the first person you see like a major douchebag." He snapped, pointed an accusatory finger at the archer before him. There was no way he was letting this _prick_ get away with talking to him like that.

However, before he could let anything else slip from his tongue, he quickly reigned himself up, sucking in a deep breath as he cut himself off from his next scathing remarks. Running a hand through his hair, the man let out a small sigh.

"Look...I get it. This...this sucks. Everything about this sucks. And...and I'll give it to you, I can be a bit of a handful." He let a small smirk fall onto his face for a brief moment. "But that's just how I cope."

Clint said nothing as he continued to glare down at the floor, silently seething in his own frustrations.

"I talk myself through it." The former burglar gave a small pause as he rubbed the back of his neck. "And then, I guess I just keep on talking, which I realize can get pretty annoying. But taking your frustrations out on your teammates isn't gonna help, man," he stressed.

" _You_ _staying_ _angry_ isn't gonna help."

The archer, once more, said nothing. He merely stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, something Scott could admit he'd never seen the man do before. He couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. Judging from the look Clint gave him when he finally lifted his head back up he was willing to bet on the latter.

"Yeah, I'm angry." Clint spoke, voice dark and tone cold. "I'm angry...and I'm frustrated...and I'm desperate. You wanna know why?" He spoke softly, but his tone held no shortage of venom as it seemed to drip from each hate-spewed word. He slowly stalked forward. Scott slowly stepped back.

"Because this whole thing - this...this whole _feud_ , those suit-wearing _assholes_ , that titanium _fucker_ \- is keeping me away from my family." He spat, eyes blazing.

Scott swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"My wife has no idea where I am. My children don't know why their father isn't coming home. My _baby_ _son_ doesn't know why I'm not there holding him!" He roared, the pain in his voice rubbing his throat raw as his eyes stung slightly.

"I don't care that you think I'm an ass. I don't care that you don't appreciate my methods." He stepped forward until he was only a few paces away from the other man, eyes narrowing. "All I care about right now it them. They are my life."

He leaned back, allowing Scott to breath once more as the man continued to stare back at him, barely revealing any sort of emotional clues as to how the words were affecting him. But that didn't deter the archer from continuing.

"I know this must be hard for you to comprehend seeing as how you have the attention span of a squirrel." He muttered with a roll of his eyes. "This split took something from all of us, but it took _everything_ from me." He clenched his fists once again. "So don't you try and lecture me about ' _dealing_ and _coping_ ', alright? Because you have _no_ _idea_ what this feels like!" He snarled, face flaring red as his words slashed through the air.

For a moment, all was quiet. The only sound in the room was the last dying echoes of the archer's final cries. Scott said nothing. He simply stared the man straight in the eyes, face calm and body rigid.

Finally, the man slowly took a few paces forward, glancing down at the ground as he licked his lips. Clint raised a brow, but didn't move.

Faster than any of them could anticipate, Scott's hand was in the air, his fist slamming into Clint's jaw, sending the archer's head whipping to the side at the powerful impact.

Ignoring the harsh stinging in his jaw, Clint reached for his belt and wrapped his fingers around the knife stashed away there, poised to draw it out.

However, Scott made no more moves to attack, the tenseness in his body seeming to dissipate right alongside the punch. Instead, the man seemed much more...tired. Defeated.

Walking closer, Scott reached into his back pocket, making Clint tighten his grip on the knife, only to grunt as a small, square piece of paper was jammed against his chest.

The archer glanced down for a brief second before his eyes flashed up to meet Scott's, which were red around the rims and slightly glossy. But it was blatantly obvious the amount of rage and despair locked behind them. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard, nothing like the man that had begun the conversation.

"Her name is Cassie. And _she's_ the life you all took away from me."

Without another word, Scott turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Clint to the cold, cramped surroundings, the man's last words echoing in his ears. For a moment, all he did was stare, the burning fire that had been crackling in his chest slowly dwindling. Sucking in a small breath, the man ran his fingers along the edges of the photo and glanced down.

It was obviously old, the crinkled edges and darkened smudges evidence enough of such a fact. But it didn't mar the subject of the actual photo, which was of a little girl, around eight-years-old. She had long brown hair that drooped down past her shoulders and a beaming smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, eyes crinkled in joy.

The bitter taste of the words that had spewn from his mouth seemed to taint his tongue. In his fury, it was as if his mind had released all of its restraints, throwing out whatever insult, threat or curse he'd been holding in for what felt like forever, no reasoning, no thought behind _any_ of it.

The thought of his children growing without him there to see it, his baby son forgetting of his very _existence_ , the idea that if anything were to happen, he wouldn't be there to protect them, it had all been too much. And the fire crackling in his heart, the burning rage that had masked and hidden such fears had boiled over, crashing into the other man without even a moment's notice.

But now that such fury was gone...the full force of his words was hitting him blow after blow.

The man stared down at the photo, gently smoothing out the wrinkles in silence. ' _You have no idea what this feels like!'_

It couldn't be farther from the truth.

Letting out a long sigh, Clint ran a hand down his face and folded the picture up once again. He cast the punching bag behind him one last glance before stepping out of the room.

It didn't take long to find Scott, for he was where he always was. In the back corner of the warehouse, distant from all the others, the man had set up an old, beat-up mattress along the back wall, a single shattered window resting on the wall adjacent to it, the dwindling sunlight streaming in softly. He sat atop the mattress, back pressed up against the wall as his wrists rested atop his propped-up knees, face resigned and sullen.

The archer hesitated for a moment, something he'd assumed had been trained out of him years ago. Hesitation meant missing your window. It meant missing your target. It meant failing your mission. Yet despite the mantra rolling through his brain, he still felt himself hold back for a second. HE shifted his jaw, wincing slightly at the sharp pang that shot through it.

Steeling himself, the man moved forward.

Scott made no indication of noticing him as he approached. He didn't even look at him as Clint leaned down and sat on the mattress next to him. For a moment, the two men said nothing. They merely stared up at the shattered window above, the distant sound of water and screeching birds echoing around them.

Clint let out a small sigh as he ran a finger over the folded picture one last time before handing it to Scott. The man glanced down at it before gently reaching up grasping it softly before unfolding it, staring down at it himself. He still said nothing.

Clint watched him for a moment before letting his head rest against the cold concrete behind them. "She has your smile."

Scott blinked for a moment before letting out a small scoff. "Yeah, with the snark to go with it." He chuckled softly, fingers delicately tracing the edges of the picture.

"How old is she now?"

The man gave a small huff as a smile graced his lips, eyes misting slightly. "She just turned nine." His face grew pained, the smile forced. "It was the first full birthday I'd gotten to spent with her in the last three years." He murmured softly.

Clint shut his eyes tightly, massaging the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh. "Listen, Scott. What I said back there...I... I didn't mean all that shit. I was just-"

Scott waved him off before he could finish. "Hey, don't worry about it." The man said softly. "I get it. Contrary to what you might believe, I _do_ know what you're going through." The man gave a small smile. "You actually kinda remind me of Cassie. When she was five, the cable box blew and we had no TV for about a week." The man let out a loud laugh. "Man, she was crawling the walls. I was actually surprised so much anger could fit inside that tiny little body."

Clint didn't share in the man's cheer. In fact, he stared back at him with an unreadable expression before he shut his eyes once again. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Scott echoed, raising a brow.

Clint's eyes drifted back over to him. "How do you stay so...calm, so-so _relaxed_ through all this?" He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath from his lips. "I...I've been on missions before. I've been away from my family before. Weeks, months at a time I'd be gone. And...and I could handle it because...because I knew I'd see them again." The archer blinked and stared down at the floor, eyes hard. "Despite whatever horror, whatever asshole we were taking down that week, I knew I would see them." His fingers curled. "I would do _whatever_ it took to see them. And...and I was fine."

"But this? I just...I have no idea what's gonna happen. The Accords...Stark...everything's...it...

"Everything's kinda shit right now." Scott finished.

Clint furrowed his brows. "To put it mildly." He muttered. "I don't know whether we'll have to stay on the run forever or if we'll be arrested eventually and sent back to the raft but...either way means I never see my family again. And I just... can't do that. I _can't_ think about that without..." He stopped when his voice wavered slightly. He cleared his throat harshly before picking up once again. "So how are you so... _alright?"_

It felt strange saying what he'd been feeling out loud for the first time in...well, in a long time. What he'd said was true. He'd been on millions of missions. And sure, some were harder than others. Some were...some were _really_ bad, and there were always times where you just _had_ to talk about what you'd seen. Id didn't matter if you were the hardest, toughest person alive. If you could see some of the things that he had seen, holding it in would not seem to be an option.

Of course, Clint couldn't really describe himself as the most " _open"_ person, especially when it came to personal stuff. Usually, he would go to Natasha for such matters. She was the person he trusted more than _anyone_ on the team, maybe even one of the people he trusted most in his _life,_ excluding his wife, of course.

And yet, for some reason, he just couldn't see himself talking to the woman about this. He knew he could trust her with it. Hell, Sott didn't even _know_ his family. Natasha did. But...but despite how close they were, despite how well she knew his family, Natasha...couldn't _understand_. She could sympathize, but she couldn't feel what he was feeling. She couldn't know what he was thinking.

Scott did.

He was the only other person on the team who had the same gaping hole sitting in his stomach, pressing on his chest and gripping his lungs in a vice-grip. He was the only person who truly had something to lose that was more precious than _their_ actual lives.

Scott understood.

But what made Clint feel worse was that he'd doubted Scott's feelings. He'd accused him of not understanding when he was the _only_ one who really could. Scott knew about Clint's family, and Clint had never once stopped to ask about Scott's. He'd never even thought about it.

Considering all this, Clint was pretty sure he would have punched himself too if he'd been Scott.

Speaking of, the man - who'd been staying quiet in thought for a moment or two - finally spoke.

"Well...' _alright'_ isn't the word I'd use but...I just...have a lot of practice with this." He sighed. "I don't know if you guys know this, I mean, you're the Avengers, so you probably don't take your background checks very lightly or whatever but, back in 2012, I kinda...did some shit." He muttered. "Stole some stuff I wasn't supposed to; did some things that weren't allowed and...I got booked."

He ran a hand through his hair, face resigned and tired. "I was sentenced to three years. And you know..." He angled his head towards Clint." ...the biggest problem I had wasn't that all the guys looked like they could take on Cap over there and give him a run for his money. It wasn't that the toilets looked like a bunch of five-year-olds did arts and crafts with scrap metal to make them. And it wasn't even that the food looked like glue mixed with whatever shit they found in the arts and crafts toilets."

Clint couldn't help but scoff at that.

"No...it was that my wife refused to allow Cassie to visit me. I had to go three years without seeing my daughter."

The archer stared back at him for a moment before blinking in shock. "God...how did you do it?" He breathed, not even able to imagine going so long without seeing his family.

Scott gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I guess, ironically, it was her. Cassie was the reason I was able to survive because she was my incentive _to_ survive."

Clint said nothing. Scott glanced down at the picture in his hands, a small passive smile gracing his lips.

"I figured, after all the shit I put her through, the least I could do was make sure she'd still have a worth-while father when I got out. So, I pushed through it. I focused on her and only her." He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "So...I guess I have a little practice with this feeling. I know what it's like to leave the people you love, worrying about whether they're okay and when you'll see them again."

He waved the picture slightly. "But, as long as I have this, as long as she's still out there, I have a reason to fight." And in that moment, Scott's face morphed into a look of such determination that Cling almost had to do a double-take. She sheer seriousness on the man's face made him blink as Scott stared straight at him. "And I swear to **God** , I'm not gonna stop. And neither should you."

Clint stared back at him for a moment before turning away, staring down at the ground as he licked his lips. "When I, uh...when I left, Cooper was still struggling with his Algebra. I...I promised to help him study for his big test at the end of the quarter." His voice wavered slightly. He didn't bother in clearing it. "L-Lila's been recording the episodes to this new show she's been crazy about." The man smiled, his eyes glossy and misty. "I don't even know what it's about. Ponies, princesses? Still, she recorded them so that we could watch them together." The words cracked as his hands curled into fists against his knees.

"And...Nathaniel, my youngest, was...w-was just starting to...t-to stand on his own. H...He's gonna start walking...and...and I'm...not gonna be there. I'm not gonna be there to catch him on the other side of the room. I just-"

He couldn't finish as the words were swallowed up, his throat closing as a few stray tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn't even care anymore. He didn't care that in all his days of working in the field, he'd never once shed a tear. He didn't care that he was being so emotionally vulnerable in front of a man he didn't even know considered him a friend. He didn't care...because it was his _family._

For a moment, the two men said nothing, the silence engulfing the pair as the last few traces of light began to disappear behind the horizon, the sky melting into a pool of deep blue, faded pinks and glossy purples, the last traces of orange and red fading.

"I'm not saying this is easy." Scott finally spoke. Clint cleared his throat and stared hard at the ground. "I mean, Cassie's not the only one I left. My..." He paused, seemingly unsure of himself for a moment. "My... _friend_ , Hope probably didn't even know this happened until she saw my name being plastered on the news. I only hope Cassie didn't find out that way."

He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself before continuing. "Still, there's only one thing we can do. There's only one thing _you_ can do. We stick together, we don't back down, and we _keep_ fighting. And I promise you, I _promise_ you, I am going to make sure you get home to catch your son when he greets you at the front door." He placed a hand on Clint's shoulder, flashing the man a confident smile, eyes mirroring the pain flashing in Clint's.

The archer stared back at him for a moment before giving a small smile of his own. "I'll make sure it's not another three years before you see her again."

The two men nodded before turning away, each staring out at the darkening sky as the echoes of the distant city echoed faintly, the soft lapping of water drifting into the warehouse.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"We should form a club."

"No."

"Like, ' _Dads United',_ or something."

"You're ruining the moment."

"We can get T-Shirts printed! Ooh! Ooh! Come up with a cheesy dad joke and we can put it on the back!"

"It's ruined."

* * *

**Thursday - March 31, 2016**

**Mackview Shipping and Storage Center**

**10:05 p.m.**

The moon hung high overhead, silvery wisps of light bouncing off the waves below in a trail of melted silver mixing with the ink black of the bay water. The stars lay covered behind a thick veil of smog and clouds, the moon pulling back the curtain just enough to cast a bright glow.

The soft sounds of waves lapping up against the sides of the docks filled the air, muffled only slightly by the distant sound of whirring metal and the even fainter scuffle of footsteps racing along the rooftops of the lined up storage facilities.

The shadowed figures crouched low to the roof, nearly concealed except for the slight shine of the silhouettes the moon cast upon them. They leapt across the remaining rooftops before stopping atop the one building in the center of the row, the largest of the five others. They silently crept to the center of the rooftop, where a transparent glass portion of the ceiling allowed them a clear view of the area below.

Conveyor belts that should have long since been deactivated were active and running, gleaming metal parts and circuits cruising atop the metallic surfaces. Large cranes lifted up huge wooden crates and deposited them to certain corners of the room and high-tech guns of various sizes and makes were being loaded into said boxes by near two dozen men and women. It was hard to miss the bright glow of the weapons, the advancements installed in each obviously not from Earth.

"So...I'm guessing this is the place."

The others glanced over at Scott, who shrugged his shoulders. "Just making sure."

Cap glanced back down at the workers before resting his fingertips against the comm unit in his ear. "Any movement, Falcon?"

There was a moment of silence before the transmission broke through on the rest of their comms. " _Negative. No outer forces moving in. If anyone's coming to relieve these guys, it won't be for a while."_ He responded, Cap stealing a small glance towards the distant storage crates near the docks, where Sam stood on lookout.

The man nodded. "Alright, just keep us posted. We can't afford any mishaps here."

" _Copy."_

Steve raised his head to glance back at the others, silently asking if they were ready.

Natasha rested her hand against the top of her gun, cocking it in preparation as she fiddled with another strapped to her side.

Scott pressed a button near his neck and the helmet to his suit folded over his face, the lenses glaring bright red in the light of the moon overhead.

Clint raised his bow and gripped an arrow from behind his head, resting it on the top of his curled finger as the string began to shiver with each movement of his hand.

Wanda narrowed her eyes, the irises instantly glowing a bright crimson red as her hands lit with the same energy, the ground around them shining slightly with the bright light emanating from her.

Cap raised his hands slightly and pressed a trigger installed into the sides of his gloves. Instantly, the metallic bands wrapping around his forearm disbanded and raised up to form twin long gray shields that stretched from the tips of his elbows to cover his hands. He had still yet to get used to the new weapons T'Challa had bestowed him in place of his usual red and blue alternative, but it was better than nothing.

Their answers were clear. Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Let's move."

* * *

The men milled about unperturbed, going about their usual business of unloading and packing boxes, checking newly crafted weapons and inspecting them for shipment. The sounds of machinery filled and air as well as the soft whirring of the conveyor belts around the room.

One man moved away from the machines and picked up a stray clipboard laying one one of the remaining crates, flipping through the pages as he narrowed his eyes. In his concentration, he took no notice of the soft thump of a body hitting the ground near the back of the warehouse, nor did any of the other men. Two more thugs went down in silent heaps without any notice, their disappearances flying past the radar.

In fact, it wasn't until one of the nearby machines fizzled and exploded did they finally take notice that something was amiss. The stray arrow attached to the now-steaming metal made them all freeze.

Glass shattered above their heads as Captain America exploded from the rooftop, the sharp shards raining down around them as he landed on one man's shoulders, the figure folding like wet paper as the soldier rolled along the ground and rammed his fist into the chest of another thug, sending him flying backwards where he hit the wall hard, a clear difference than going straight _through_ the wall, had the soldier not been holding back.

Hawkeye and Witch were next as they shot through one of the warehouse windows in a burst of crimson light, arrows draw and hands clenched.

Widow revealed her position behind one of the larger crates as she leapt over and wrapped her legs round the nearest man dragging him down to the floor as she jabbed her wrist against the side of his neck, sparks of electricity exploding from the minuscule taser. The closest man whipped out his gun and aimed it at her, only to gasp and watch as the gun was suddenly jerked out of his hands, his neck snapping backwards as an unseen force punched him in the chin. Ant-Man suddenly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, ramming his foot into the man's face, knocking him unconscious.

For a moment, a wave of silence rang out through the warehouse as everyone froze, eyes locking onto eyes, muscles coiling in either shock or preparation. The whirring of machines died down to a soft droning in the background.

Instantly the stupor shattered as the men lunged for their guns, whipping them out as fast as they could, the building exploding into a cacophony of noise before anyone could blink.

Cap narrowed his eyes and brought his shields up just as a handful of bullets shot towards him, the dull sound of them making contact with the metal before dimly falling to the floor briefly met his ears for a split second as he made up the distance between him and the assailants, his fists shooting out faster than the bullets.

He felt one man's ribs crack as he rammed past him, groans of pain filling the air as he crouched low to the ground, sweeping the feet of the nearest thug before throwing his falling body towards another, the two rolling along the ground as he leapt over a third, bringing his elbow down onto his shoulders, a resounding crack meeting his ears.

Raising his shields to block another round of bullets, the man grabbed hold of one of the nearby hand rails along the wall and swung himself around it, feet connecting with the shoulders of another man, who flew backwards at the force of the hit.

More shots rang out as another pair of goons filed towards him, his shields instantly going up once more as he blocked himself off from the impending projectiles. as he covered himself from the barrage of bullets, one of the two thugs lunged for the nearby conveyor belt, grabbing hold of one of the newly made guns, a holder with an unusually large barrel that split off into four separate branches.

Without even a second thought, the man pulled the trigger. The backlash from the force sent his arm jerking to the side, along with the projectile of the gun's aim. A bright flare of blue light shot from the weapon, hitting a couple of filled crates, the boxes levitating up into the air as the gun raised back up, the crates following the movements of the barrel.

The man stared at the now hovering boxes while his partner continued to fire upon Cap, the man's eyes widening slightly at the now flying crates. However, the sound of a clicking trigger and the cease of loud bangs of gunshots dragged him back to reality. "Shit." The thug cursed before his partner swung the gun forward, the boxes following in his motions as they shot towards Cap.

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the shields in hand as he leapt into the air, feet pushing against the closest box, launching him onto the next. Wrapping his hands around the sides, he reached for the next one, leg flying out as his foot connected with the final crate. The force of the kick sent the box shooting towards the two men, who screamed as it connected full force, sending them flying across the room, the weapons stored inside scattering everywhere.

The man rushed towards the box, grabbing one of the newly broken wooden planks from the sides as he ran alongside another group of men, whipping the plank forward, where it connected with the back of one person's head, sending them toppling to the ground. There, he leapt forward, sliding along the ground as he caught the leg of another, dragging him down while also twisting around back onto his feet before kicking the knee of another man, the sharp crack that followed eliciting an shrill shriek of pain that was instantly silenced as Cap threw a punch to the side of the man's head.

Pressing his hands against the cold concrete ground, Cap thrust himself upwards, feet connecting with the chin of another man, who reeled backwards, staggering into another oncoming pair of thugs, the group toppling to the ground together.

A sudden sharp whine filled the air as the man's eyes caught sight of a harsh glow. Glancing back, he noticed a woman holding one of the newly crafted weapons, the sides lighting up brightly as it charged up.

Cap ducked down as the charge shot over his head, the noise blaring through the air like a sonic cannon as the blast ripped straight through the wall behind him.

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his shields, sprinting forward. He twisted around the oncoming blasts, pausing to lift up his shield as a particularly strong blast tore through the air. He could feel the heat from the blast pressing against the metal of the barriers attached to his wrists, his feet sliding against the floor, his teeth gritting together as he fought against the beam currently driving him back. The air around him seemed to crackle and pop at the electricity and energy emanating from the beam. It almost reminded him of the same feel that Wanda's energy put out.

Narrowing his eyes, the man gave one final push of his shields before dropping to the floor, the beam shooting past overhead. Twisting around the oncoming blasts, he slid along the floor and ducked underneath another shot, ramming the woman in the chest with his shields before snatching the gun out of her hands, tripping her off her feet before knocking her out with another blow from the metallic bands.

He resisted the urge to crush the weapon right then, for he had no idea the kind of backlash such a dangerously charged device could release. He briefly thought back to Tony, realizing the man could probably have a reading out for them within a split second.

In his distraction, Cap never noticed as another goon reloaded and took aim at the back of his head. The sound of a loud scream of pain met his ears, causing him to whirl around, fists curled, only to pause as he caught sight of Natasha standing over a now unconscious form. She threw him an unamused glance. "Get your head in the game." She muttered before pulling out her gun, firing a couple shots before moving back into the fray.

She felt someone grab her from behind, large arms resting around her neck as the grip tightened. She wrapped her hands around their wrists and ducked down, flipping the man onto the floor in front of her as she laced a short cord around his neck, the sound of choked gurgling reaching her ears as she looped around and kicked back another pair of guys lunging for her.

Releasing her hold on the now limp body, she raced along the edge of the room and skidded past another two guards, releasing two small disks as she slid past, the huge burst of electrical charge running up their legs as they fell to their knees, the woman ramming her elbows into the sides of their heads before leaving the still bodies.

Pulling her guns out once more, the woman began to go on the offensive, covering whoever the thugs were taking aim at, incapacitating them before they could even let off any shots. The sound of distant cries of pain and choked off screams were the only indication of her hitting her targets as she fired. She noticed another large group of thugs lining up along the catwalks above their heads, guns drawn at they took aim on the heroes fighting below them.

Widow narrowed her eyes as she pocketed her guns once more, moving along the shadowed edges of the room where she wrapped her hands around the rusted metal of the ladder leading up to the walkway.

Quickly and quietly racing up it, she crouched low to the ground and charged the group, extending out another short cord as she slid underneath their legs, wrapping the steel-laced wires around their legs before pulling taut. Three of the thugs came crashing down while the remaining handful aimed their guns at her.

Instantly taking note of the cramped quarters of the catwalk, Natasha wrapped her hands around the thick wires attaching the walkway to the ceiling and looped around it, dodging the bullets as she swiped her foot at the nearest goon, the man letting out a startled shout as he toppled over the edge of the railing.

The remaining two didn't have time to react as the woman leapt over their heads and wrapped her legs around their necks, dragging them down to the ground where she attached another round of electrodes to their shoulders, bright sparks of electricity exploding into the air as they seized on the ground the woman gripping the previous wires tightly as she slid down them towards the ground below, rolling expertly along the stained ground before pulling out her pistols once again.

The woman let out a grunt as she felt someone ram the but of their gun against her chin, her head snapping back painfully as she reeled backwards. Eyes narrowing, the woman took notice of the lady now glaring at her, hair tied back as she threw her a disgusted snarl. She also noticed the shining gun tightly gripped in her hands, the _glowing_ gun.

A small grunt fell from her lips as Natasha dropped to the ground, avoiding the sharp blast of the gun as the lady fired upon her. Placing her hand on the ground, Widow twisted her legs around and caught the woman in the back of the knees, dragging her to the ground.

However, instead of folding, the woman dropped onto her knees instead and whipped back around, driving her elbow forward. Natasha caught the limb as it flew out, pushing back against it as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a sharp, serrated knife, whipping it forward.

The woman reeled backwards as the weapon flashed before her, her hands reaching for the gun in her possession. Widow wrapped her free hand around the woman's shoulders as she dragged her down once again, the knife slashing along the woman's wrists as she reached for her gun once again.

She screamed out in pain and gave one final shove, knocking the woman off of her as she rolled along the ground and grabbed her gun once again, the sharp familiar whine filling the air as she let off a huge blast. Widow dove to the ground as the shot fired overhead, her grip on the knife tightening. Rushing forward, the woman ducked underneath the oncoming jab and rammed her shoulder into the woman's gut. The woman shot out a choked breath right as Natasha made a grab for the gun.

Wrestling it out of the woman's hands, Natasha shot a punch forward, her fist connecting with the center of the woman's face as her head snapped backwards. The woman didn't even watch as the thug crumpled to the ground, for she was already looking for her next target.

The woman barely even flinched as an arrow whisked past her face, an explosion sending wood chips and splinters flying from behind her, screams echoing out as the smoke shot forward. She caught sight of Clint standing atop a pile of crates in the corner of the room, face hard and eyes narrowed as he loosed another arrow, the projectile shooting across the room faster than she could follow.

The archer fired another once the previous shot hit its mark, his next target consisting of a group of machines still working in the corner of the room. The man reached behind him and pulled out a handful of connected arrows, placing all three against the taught string of his bow.

The sharp whistle that slashed through his ears as he released filled the air for a brief moment before the projectiles hit their mark, flashes of light illuminating the air as the metal machines parked and crackled before dying down, extended limbs dropping towards the floor as their electrical charges fizzled out.

Hawkeye reached behind him once again, only to wince as he heard a bullet whiz right past his ear, ducking down instinctively before leaping off of the boxes, breaking towards the group currently taking aim at him.

After a split-second analysis of the situation, the man dropped his bow and ripped his knife out from its holster around his waist, the weapon much more equipped for close-quarters fighting.

The thugs raised their guns, bullets hailing down around him as the man leapt forward and rolled along the ground, slashing the knife upwards through the air as the serrated edge sliced through one of the men's arms, blood spurting into the air.

He screamed out in pain, the sound instantly being cut off as Hawkeye swept his legs out from underneath him and rammed his knee into the man's chin, effectively knocking him out before dropping his limp body back onto the floor, kicking it forward as it threw the other three goons off balance.

Reaching into his belt, the man tightly grasped onto three flat metal prongs, hurling them forward, where they embedded themselves into the men's arms and shoulders, not deep enough to be fatal, but serious enough to elicit shouts and screams of shock and pain.

Utilizing the momentary distraction, the man raced along the ground, whisking up his bow as he ran and twirled it around in his hands, hands running along the metal edges as the bow melded back into a plain, long bow-staff.

Spinning the weapon over his head, the man swung it forward, the metal catching the back legs of one thug while ramming into the shoulder of another, digging the metal pins in deeper than before. Blood dripped onto the concrete, smearing across the ground as the men stepped and slid in it.

Thwacking one man in the head while conking out another woman, Hawkeye twisted the last man's arm behind his back before driving him down to the ground, foot colliding with the side of his head before his body went still.

The archer whipped the staff hard, the metal transforming back into that of his normal bow. He reached behind him and gripped another arrow, eyes scanning the warehouse for any signs of his teammates in distress.

Across the room, Clint could just make out Ant Man seeming to appear out of nowhere as he punched a man out before disappearing once again right as another woman tried to attack him from behind.

She whipped around wildly, trying to make out the man's presence, only for her arm to twist around behind her back all of a sudden as the man reappeared, driving his elbow into her shoulder, effectively driving her down.

Loud pops and shots fro the nearby gunmen rang out, an approaching group firing heavily on the man who seemed to keep disappearing and reappearing. Ant Man shrunk down right as the bullets shot forward. Despite not being able to see the man, the group continued to fire, hoping to blindly hit the man out of pure luck.

Suddenly, one man's gun was knocked from his hands, the weapon clattering down around his feet, followed by another and another until all their guns were either knocked away or destroyed. Before any of them could whip out any more weapons, Scott grew before their eyes, fists flying out faster than they could counter, the group falling to the floor as they clutched broken noses or nurses shattered jaws.

The familiar crackling of the comms rang in their ears as Clint's voice broke through. _"Ant Man, you see that big machine over there in the corner?"_ He asked, said man glancing behind him as he dodged another attack. "Yeah, what about it?"

_"I think the exterior is impervious to my arrows' electrical currents, I can't get it to shut down."_

The man nodded. "Say no more." He called back before pressing a small button on the side of his helmet, mind instantly focusing as he'd been trained to do. Not even a second later, a large Carpenter ant landed before him, wings extended as its antennas twitched.

Wasting no time, the man leapt up onto the bug's back as the familiar buzz of their rapid wings filled his ears, the ground disappearing from sight as they took off.

It only took a few seconds for Ant Man to locate the machine that Hawkeye had been talking about. It was obviously the biggest one out of the other machines, most likely the most important one as well, which would explain why it was proving to be so difficult to disable it.

Leaping off of his ant right as they flew above the machine, the man tucked his legs underneath him as he rolled along the metal surface, cushioning his fall slightly as he took off running, eyes scanning the metal paneling for any sort of cracks or lines that could mean his way in.

Finally, Scott caught sight of a break in the metal between the panels and the wiring. Narrowing his eyes, the man leapt forward, sliding in between the panels easily before landing down between the wires and the circuit panels. Slowly lowering his arms, the man cautiously glanced around, movements purposely slow as to not trip anything that might make the entire machine explode. After all, he _was_ kinda... _inside_ of it.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, his adrenaline still spiked high and dangerous. He ran his hands along the wires tracking the walls of the circuits, glancing at the outlets they connected to and the slight sparks of electricity that ran through them.

Taking a deep breath, the man tightly gripped one of the wires before giving a hard yank, the machine jerking violently for a moment before falling still once more. He could still feel the vibrations of the motor underneath his feet. It was still active. Taking hold of another two wires ,the man let out a grunt as he ripped them away from the sides as well, the machine letting out a loud whine and fritz as the vibrations increased for a second before dying away altogether.

The man smiled behind his mask before climbing out of the metal paneling once again. "Machines are down." He called over the comms as he hooked an arm around his ant once more and hoisted himself up, the ant taking to the skies once again.

Wanda barely paused in her movements as Scott's voice rang out through the transmission, her hands twisting out in front of her as she hoisted two men into the air and slammed them together, loud grunts falling from their lips as they collided before promptly being thrown back down to the ground.

THe continuous ringing of gunshots firing across the building made it difficult to deduce when a particular shot was being aimed at you, which was why Wanda didn't notice the guns being drawn on her until one bullet grazed her shoulder, the heat of the metal burning her skin as it ripped through her clothes.

The girl whipped around and caught sight of the group trailing their guns on her, pistols raised and hands shaking as they watched their numbers begin to die down around the room. Wanda's eyes narrowed as a slight reddish glow began to emanate from her irises.

With a grit of her teeth, the girl propelled herself off of the ground, hovering in the air as she fired down upon the group, spirals of crimson energy raining down around them faster than any bullets they hd previously fired, explosions of red-tinged light blinding the thugs as they shielded themselves from the heat swirling around them.

The girl curled her fingers into a fist, the energy trails trailing around them suddenly constricting as they grabbed hold of the group, hurdling them together into a tight circle. Wanda extended her palms fired another single shot at the group, the projectile exploding out around them, knocking them out instantly as they all collapsed to the floor.

Wanda dove back down to the ground as more bullets rang in the air. She landed on the ground near another group and opened her hands, slamming them together as a shockwave of crimson light shot forward, knocking the group off of their feet.

She high-pitch charge of a new weapon caught her ears, the same sound that had been ringing out around the building throughout the fight. The girl ducked to the ground right as a bright green shot fired straight over her head, destroying the roof above them. Showers of concrete and debris littered the floor as it fell, the girl's eye catching sight of the man currently wielding a large weapons resembling a bazooka, only smaller and more compact.

The girl steadied her feet as she faced off against the man, fists curling at her sides as pools of energy dripped down towards her fingertips, the barrel of the gun lighting up in green fire as it readied to shoot.

The click of a trigger was Wanda's only warning before the gun fired, a steady beam of green energy charging forward. LIfting her hands up, the girl countered with a blast of her own, green and red colliding together in an explosion of white light as the two beams fought one another for dominance.

Wanda could feel her feet sliding against the concrete as the beams pushed her back, her eyes narrowing into slits as her teeth gritted together, a loud grunt passing past her lips as she shouldered the full force of the attack, her hands shaking slightly as she took a step forward, driving her shoulders down as she fought back. Step by step, the girl began to gain more ground on her opponent as the red beam began to eat up more and more of the green.

As she attacked, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye.

Another shadowed figure stood near the corner of the warehouse, only he seemed much smaller than the other thugs and goons that were currently dropping like flies, even if his attire was the same. As the figure inched his way along the back wall, Wanda was just able to make out his face, instantly recognizing the features of a teenager, no older than eighteen. The boy stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted as his frantic eyes glanced over towards the emergency exit. He cast the room one last glance before disappearing out the back door.

The girl's first instinct was to go after him, realizing that leaving even _one_ person free could jeopardize their entire mission, but a particularly strong push from the gun's blast had her mind focusing back onto the present.

Finally, with one last thrust of her hands, the energy swirling from her hands engulfed the blast from the gun, encompassing both the weapon and the man, who shouted in pain at the scalding sear of her energy wrapping around him.

Cutting off the attack, the girl watched as the man crumpled to the ground, the smoking remains of his gun clattering in pieces around him.

Taking a second to catch her breath, Wanda glanced around as she realized she could actually _hear_ the sharp intakes of her breath, something she hadn't been able to do while the battle was at full peak. Glancing around as she took notice of the unusual calm, she realized that there were no thugs left to take down. The room was full of writhing bodies or still forms, smoking machines and cracked holes in the walls of the building. The remaining Avengers stood scattered around the room, inspecting their work or the weapons lying around the room.

Nobody looked seriously injured. The girl let out a small breath at that.

Her teammates stepped over scattered bodies as they met up in the center, Cap stooping down to pick up one of the weapons. The metal casing was blackened and burnt, but the alien tech infused inside still let out a faint purple glow. The man narrowed his eyes. "Damn.." He muttered, having still held onto hope that perhaps the rumors had been wrong.

"How many more do you think they have?" Scott asked, flipping the visor of his helmet up to reveal his worried face.

Natasha gave a small shake of her head as she snapped her pistol back into its holster. "After the Chitari invasion, there was alien tech scattered all across the city. There's no telling how much these guys got their hands on, but judging from this I'd say it's enough to cause us some trouble."

Clint let out a grunt. "Great, cause we can't seem to get enough of that." He snapped, strapping his bow to his back once again.

The sound of distant sirens faintly reached their ears, making the all snap back to attention. Sam's voice filtered in through the comms. "Guys, you might wanna wrap this up. We're gonna have some company in a couple minutes. Five top."

Wanda snapped back to reality as she turned towards Cap. "There was another criminal near the back of the warehouse, a boy. He go away before I could stop him." She sighed, voice revealing her frustrations.

The others shared concerned looks, realizing that such a mistake could lead to their reveal. Steve glanced behind him at the back of the warehouse, the faint light of flashing red and blue lights making him narrow his eyes as he turned back towards the girl, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll worry about that later. But we're not done here yet."

The girl stared hard at him for a moment before giving a slight nod of her head. It didn't take long for the others to round up the unconscious or disarmed thugs, collecting them in the center of the room. The men who were still conscious glared at the heroes, teeth grinding as they shot venomous looks at the rogues.

"We've seen your faces!" One man snapped. "You better let us go or we'll tell them cops everything! We'll tell everyone!" He grinned.

The remaining Avengers shared looks as Wanda stepped forward, trails of crimson energy beginning to pool in her hands as her eyes began to mist over in red light. As her fingertips began to twitch, the red mist slowly began to encircle the men, reaching long tendrils of energy towards their eyes. Natasha gave a small smirk from where she stood. "Tell them _what_ exactly?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Somehow, I don't think you'll find it quite so easy to _remember_ what happened here."

Wanda's face grew hard as she glared down at the group, who were now staring at her with wide eyes as they were encircled by her energy. She narrowed her eyes. "And you won't be telling anyone _anything."_ She growled before the room exploded in crimson light.


	13. Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They aren't going to tell anybody, you know."
> 
> "Yeah? H-how can you be so sure?"
> 
> "Cause I know them, kid." Tony shot back, turning to look at the boy. "Look, Pete. This...this isn't my secret to tell, alright? If you don't want people to know, then I won't tell them anything." He explained. "I promi-"
> 
> "Don't!" Peter snapped, eyes suddenly flashing. "Don't use that word. It means nothing." He growled out. Tony said nothing at that.

**Saturday - April 2, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs**

**06:12 p.m.**

A sharp hiss of pain flew from his lips as he felt the knife slice his cheek, blood splattering the wall behind them as he reared back, quickly stepping out of range of the woman as she flipped the knife into her other hand.

Peter felt his chest heaving, positioning his feet to face off against her as Sandra threw him a crooked smile, her ponytail swishing behind her as she lifted up her arms, shining knife in hand. Peter narrowed his eyes and gripped the knife in _his_ hand a little tighter right as the woman charged him.

Tensing his muscles, the teen ducked underneath the oncoming slash and elbowed the woman in the side, a grunt falling from her lips as she bent, Peter swishing forward as he swept her legs out from underneath her. Sandra, ready for this, twisted onto her side and fell to one knee, swinging the other leg forward as she caught Peter in the back of the knee, the teen buckling right as she leapt forward and rammed her elbow into his shoulder.

He yelped and rolled away as the knife slashed the air right in front of his face, missing his nose by mere centimeters.

Quickly leaping back to his feet, Peter raised his arm and blocked the oncoming blow, dropping his knife into his other hand as he slashed upwards towards her chest, kicking the hem of her shirt before the two broke away again, her leg swishing out once more. Leaping over the kick, Peter surged forward and rammed his shoulder into her gut, driving her backwards as he cut her arm before he felt a similar feeling slice through his upper shoulder.

He hissed and backed up right as the knife flew forward once more, slashing his forehead before a fist slammed into his cheek, whipping his head to the side right as Sandra shot her knee upwards, catching the bottom of the boy's chin.

He grunted and fell to the floor as Sandra twirled the knife in her hand. "What's wrong, Petey? Tired already?"

"Considering we've been doing this for over ten minutes, just a little bit." He muttered, not even caring about what punishments could ensure for his sarcasm before he narrowed his eyes and curled his fingers even tighter around the knife in his hands, teeth grinding.

He had been fighting all day. Curt, Sandra, Max, Flint, even some of the new cadets. Each bringing with them a new trial for him to overcome, a new enemy to face. And for each exercise, his father stood to the side, measuring his reflexes, his stamina, his strength, face ever stoic and eyes as cold as always, his expressions never shifting into anything other than displeasure as he watched his son get pummeled, stomped, slashed and thrown all over the room.

But what else was new?

However, as he faced off against Sandra for the third time in the last four hours, he couldn't help but feel his frustrations beginning to burn brighter. Each taunt. Each blow. Each crooked smile made his teeth grind and his fists clench just a little harder. It had been such a long day, and he was ready for it to be _over!_

With a growl of fury, the teen rushed her once again. Preparing for this, Sandra prepared for the teen to strike low once again. However, she was not ready for him to flip over her, slashing her back as he leapt, landing on the ground for just a moment before surging back towards her, sliding underneath her legs as he slit the back of her knees, the woman letting out a growl of pain as she buckled, only for the teen to ram his fist into her face and flip his knife into his other hand, striking it forward as the woman countered with her own, their arms clashing as the tips of their knives pointed threateningly towards their throats.

If it weren't for the inhibitor cuffs tacked onto his writs, Peter would have _easily_ overpowered the woman. However, seeing as he'd prepared for such an event, the teen ducked underneath her outstretched weapon and hit the woman's arm from underneath, catching her by surprise as the knife fell from her grasp, the teen gripping it in his hands as it fell and whipping it forward.

However, before the weapon could reach the mark that was her neck, he felt a powerful force stop his movements cold, seeming to freeze him in place as a cold wash of energy flooded his senses and paralyzed him where he stood.

Eyes widening at the sudden situation, the teen was just able to look around enough in his frozen state to recognize the purple energy now encompassing his body. A feeling of dread fell into the pit of his stomach like a stone sinking in a lake as he tentatively glanced back towards Sandra. The woman was glaring at him in fury as her eyes glowed a deep violet, which matched the energy pooling in her hands as well as the aura hovering around the frozen boy.

Suddenly, with a flick of her wrist, Peter was sent hurtling backwards, his head hitting the back wall with a sickening _thud_ before he crumpled to the ground, a loud groan floating up from his shivering form.

"Sandra..." His father scolded as he entered the training room, the doorway opening up from the bare white walls. The woman folded her arms and glanced back at him. "What? He got me all frustrated." She muttered with a bored expression. "Serves him right for snapping at me."

Richard let out a small growl of annoyance, a clear sign for the woman to stop talking as she exited the room before she had the chance to tick the man off even further. Richard rolled his eyes at the scene but said nothing else as he strode across the room towards his son, who was slowly beginning to rise to his hands and knees.

Peter shakily raised his head, hair falling into his eyes as he stared up at his father. "Up." The man commanded, Peter following through in a second's time as he followed the man out of the training room, the lights falling dim as they exited.

Outside the simulation room, the man swiftly turned on his heel, Peter nearly running into him as he abruptly stopped and held out his hand. The teen blinked for a moment, unsure of what his father wanted him to do, only to jump as he realized the inhibitor cuffs were still attached to his wrists. Cautiously placing his hands into his father's, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, undoing the locks on the cuffs as they released the teen's wrists. Richard pocketed the cuffs and the key as he turned away without a word.

As usual when following up their daily training sessions, Peter went off towards the back of the huge command center to tend to his wounds while his father and the Cons met in his office - which was a suped-up renovation of the inside of one of the abandoned subway cars - to discuss the outcomes of the day.

Plopping down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, Peter winced and let his head fall against the back wall as a sigh fell past his lips, his eyes gently fluttering shut as the full weight of the day's events drained at what little energy remained in him.

Lazily cracking his eyes back open, the teen glanced to the side and gazed down at the rag, bandages and the bowl of water situated on the small table next to him. A wave of exhaustion flowed through him at the idea of moving any more, but he knew he had to clean himself up or the others would get annoyed at him for taking so long.

Heaving a small sigh, the teen groaned as he pushed himself up to rest his elbows on his knees as he reached over with a wince and picked up the towel.

Knowing that he could really only tend to his smaller wounds at the moment, the boy dipped the towel into the bowl of water and dabbed the cloth against his cheek, wincing as he felt the harsh sting of the liquid seeping into the ripped skin, gently dabbing the rag until drops of water began to pool down his cheek, dripping onto his pants.

Moving on to the cuts on his arms and collarbone, the teen bit his tongue against the sting of the cuts and rubbed the sweat and grime out of the scrapes before dropping the towel back onto the table and going for the bandages. Ripping off a small piece of the adhesive, he placed a tiny rectangle of tape onto the cut on his cheek and began to wrap the slashes present on his biceps and wrists, including the scarring marks left by the inhibitor cuffs, which always seemed to rub his skin raw.

Just as he was finishing up, the teen felt his stomach give a loud roar of protest, gnawing painfully at his insides as he shut his eyes in discomfort. Rolling the dates through his mind, Peter quickly remembered that it was Saturday, meaning he had to go out and buy groceries today.

_Fun._

The teen supposed he shouldn't complain. After all, it was during these rare occasions that he was able to buy something for himself to eat, granted without the knowledge of his father or the Cons. But what they didn't know...

However, with the benefits of such endeavors came the equally _horrid_ part of asking his father for money. Despite the fact that the man had _assigned_ Peter to grocery shopping detail _years_ ago, the man still couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that in order to do so, Peter needed money, meaning he needed his _father's_ money.

Peter cast a morose glance his father's way, the light from the subway car spilling out into the rest of the room. Quickly sucking in a steadying breath, Peter slowly hoisted himself up from the chair, muscles screaming in protest as he grimaced in pain, forcing himself to move nonetheless.

As usual, the teen made an effort to avoid any and all contact with the other people in the room. Some he'd never seen before while others were already frequent suppliers and cadets. Nevertheless, Peter knew that if they were down there - if they were mingling with his father and his crew - then they were bad news.

And Lord knew, Peter didn't need any more of that.

After ducking and dodging past the others in the massive workroom, Peter hesitantly stared at the train car looming ahead of him. The warm orange light seeping from the windows and out the front entrance seemed to creep across the ground, stretching and clawing towards Peter's feet, threatening to drag him in.

The teen shook the thoughts away and took a steadying breath before entering the car.

The base skeletal structure of the car was the same. Large windows that stretched along the top half of the train, and a long narrow pathway flanked by said windows. However, the seats had been gutted out in favor for larger, comfier couches while a desk sat pushed up against one of the side walls and the other hoisted a bulletin board complete with multiple pins and files attached to the surface. His father sat behind the large counter, eyes scanning over the papers spread out over the desk while Max and Sandra put up new pieces of paper onto the bulletin board and Curt read out random information from a clipboard in his hands. Flint was...well, Flint was passed out on the small couch, an empty bottle in one of his large hands.

They hadn't noticed his arrival.

Realizing he'd have to get a move on if he wanted to reach the store in time before it closed, the teen cleared his throat and gently knocked on the metal surface of the closest wall.

Immediately, four heads shot up towards the noise, save for Flint, who was still passed-out drunk. Curt curled his lip before glaring back down at the clipboard. "What the hell do _you_ want?" He muttered, as if his mere presence was a major inconvenience for them.

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as he glanced over at his father. Richard was staring at him with his usual stare of displeasure and annoyance as he waved his hand in a motion that meant _'Explain. Quickly.'_

Peter jerked out of his silence as he lowered his head and began to wring his hands out like wet towels. "Umm...i-it's Saturday. I-"

"Boy, _thank_ you for the update!" Sandra snorted before tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Any other _shocking_ news you'd like to proclaim?" She muttered, Max elbowing her in the side in disapproval while Curt snorted into the back of his hand. Richard rolled his eyes at their words but continued to stare back at Peter, dark black eyes boring into hazel-gold.

The look made Peter shiver.

"I...It's just that...I gotta g-go get groceries t-today." He murmured quietly, tensions mounting inside him on how his father would react. More often than not, it depended on the man's mood. It was almost _always_ _impossible_ to predict his father's reactions.

However, as the words left his mouth, Peter heard his father mutter a sigh of irritation before beckoning the teen over. Peter was quick to comply, sliding past Flint's sprawled-out body before coming up to stand beside his father's desk. The man ripped a few bills from his wallet and shoved them at the boy, Peter quickly floundering to get a better grip on them. "Don't dawdle." The man muttered before leaning closer to the teen, threateningly pointing a finger in his direction. "And _don't_ get any more than needed. Understand?" He growled, eyes narrowed in malice and disgust.

Peter hastily nodded his head. "Y-yes, sir." He exclaimed quietly, moving to dart back out of the cart, only for his father to clear his throat as he stood up from his desk and began to shuffle a few papers into place. His hard stare remained locked on the folders as he spoke. "We won't be here when you get back." He uttered in his usual hard tone before looking away, the small piece of information obviously the only thing he wished to disclose.

However, in his haste, Peter couldn't help but furrow his brows in involuntary curiosity as he tilted his head "Where are you going?" He asked on reflex, before his brain could catch up to the words spilling from his mouth.

As soon as the words were out, the teen realized the mistake he'd made as his father rounded on him, backhanding him across the cheek before roughly grabbing the teen by the side of the neck, aggressively tilting his head back to stare the man straight in the eyes. "That's none of your _goddamn_ business, you hear me?!" He snarled, face pinched in anger as Peter grabbed his father's wrist, hoping to pry the hand off of his neck. "You don't ask questions. You do as you're told and you keep your mouth shut! You understand?!"

The teen did his best to nod, eyes scrunching as he gritted his teeth together. Richard curled his lip in disgust before dropping the teen to the floor, glaring down at him with a scowl. "How many times are we gonna have to do this before you start getting it through your head." He muttered before swiftly walking back towards the desk.

The Cons hadn't even bothered to look up.

Peter said nothing as he scrambled to his feet and quickly bolted from the subway car, not stopping even as he exited into the open station once more, dashing straight for the elevator near the back of the building.

He panted heavily as the elevator doors slid closed around him, his back pressing into the cool metal behind him as he wrapped a hand around his throat, heaving at the throbbing pain in his cheek and shoulder. The soft whirring of the elevator slowly began to help his heart calm, the frantic beating dying down to a rhythmic thumping as he blew a sigh past his lips.

 _Idiot_. He muttered to himself, glaring down at nothing. _Why can't you ever just shut up?_ He growled bitterly,resting the back of his head against the wall behind him as he shut his eyes.

_"I'm not gonna punish you or whatever for saying what's on your mind, you know."_

The teen paused as Mr. Stark's words echoed in his mind, a lump forming in the back of his throat as he anxiously continued to rub at the back of his hand. Perhaps taking Tony words of advice _wasn't_ the best idea for him. After all, it was already beginning to get him into more trouble than usual, Threatening to instill in him a confidence that the Cons and his father had been adamant in crushing. Besides, it wasn't like he could really apply such words to his life at home.

That was likely to get him killed.

Still...

" _I want you to feel like you_ _can be yourself here, alright?"_

Couldn't hurt to dream.

The teen jerked out of his thoughts as the elevator doors slid open onto the penthouse floor he shared with his father, his shoulders sagging slightly at the sight. Nevertheless, Peter sucked in a small breath before stepping out. A hot shower seemed to be calling him, and he wouldn't stave it off any longer.

The setting sun was a frothing ball in the sky, warm orange tones seeping out around the clouds, flaring bright yellow and cool pink as its bright rays were reflected down onto the moving city below, shining on each glass pane and metal surface. The street down below was busy as always, people milling the curbs and flashes of light beginning to bloom as the neon signs of New York's night life began to flicker into existence, clashing with the warmth of the sky and the harshness of the neon glow. Yet the warm tones could not mask the dark clouds gathering near the horizon, cold gray beginning to seep into the yellows and reds, clashing violently against the bright backdrop.

Peter stared out at the sight, the warmth dripping onto his face as he felt the sun's rays hitting his cheeks before he turned away, hazel eyes drifting towards the floor. Without another word, the teen slowly ascended the nearby staircase up to his room.

The silence around him was a welcome departure from the usual fighting and shouting that commonly occurred downstairs. They were always arguing about something. Peter thought it best to avoid them at those times.

After entering his room, it didn't take the teen long to whisk off his shirt and sweatpants and hop into the shower. Though exiting was a whole other story. The warm water soaking into his bones made it near impossible to step away. But after he felt the tips of his fingers beginning to wrinkle, Peter let out a small sigh and turned the water off, small drops falling from his cheeks and the tips of his hair as he stepped out and grabbed a towel from the sink, scrubbing it through his hair, which quickly stuck up all over the place.

Reaching for the clothes he'd dragged in from his dresser, Peter quickly pulled up the long, dark-blue jeans and grabbed his shirt before pausing, taking in the sight staring back at him in the mirror.

His abdomen was a swirl of dark blues, purples and blacks, trails of deep red and light yellow sprinkled in here and there. His ribs were clearly visible and his pale skin tone only enhanced the bruises. Deep scars ran up along his sides and across his chest, some old and fading while others were still relatively fresh.

He blinked back at the sight, a small sigh escaping his lips. Other than that, his reaction was minimal. Such a sight didn't really bother him anymore. He knew it should have, but he just couldn't muster up the energy to care about it anymore. Besides, it wasn't like it would change anything if he did, so what was the point?

Shaking his head, the teen pulled the shirt down over his head, wincing loudly as he pulled at the newly scarring wounds he'd acquired earlier that afternoon, the air sucking in between his teeth as the skin pulled taught and the harsh red lines stretched painfully. Nevertheless, he yanked the T-shirt down all the way and walked back out into his bedroom, a warm cloud of stream following him as he opened the bathroom door.

Walking over to the dresser, he grabbed the money his father had given him, shoved it into his pocket and tossed a jacket over his shoulder as he stepped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his lightly damp hair before steeling himself, moving over towards the elevator once more.

The light sound of voices met his ears before the elevator had even stopped, the doors opening to reveal the first floor and the Cons, who were lounging in the living room, eyes blearily staring at the TV as they smoked... _something_. Peter averted his eyes. They didn't like it when he snooped on their business. He could hear the tell-tale sound of liquid swishing around a glass bottle and the sound of Curt's prosthetic fingers tapping together, the soft noise echoing in the air just loud enough for Peter to make out.

He hated that noise.

_Click. Click. Click._

He lowered his head and stiffed his shoulder as he rushed for the door, praying they either didn't notice him or didn't care that he was even there. He was willing to bet on the latter as he reached the door and quickly exited, slamming it behind him with a satisfying _THUD!_

Releasing a small breath, the teen reached behind him and flipped up his hoodie as he glanced up at the sky, which was now beginning to melt into a pale pink with tones of purple, the darkening storm clouds creeping ever closer, sucking in all the colors from the sky into their gray embrace.

The teen fiddled with the money in his pocket, making sure it was still there before reaching for his earbuds.

However, Peter caught sight of something out of the corner of his eyes and turned his head as he saw his neighbor, May, standing on the front steps of her porch, a large potted plant in her arms as she shakily tried to take another step up the stairs, grunting at the weight of the plant in her arms.

She gritted her teeth as she tried once more to steady her foot on the next step, pushing herself up before she felt her toes slip back, a small yelp falling from her lips as she felt herself falling backwards.

Suddenly, she felt two hands grab her back and steady her as she slipped back to the cement sidewalk, eyes blinking in shock at the fact that she wasn't currently being flattened on the ground by the large pot, only to grin as Peter popped his head over her shoulder, bright eyes staring at her in concern. "You okay?" He asked breathlessly, obviously having just run over at the sight of her struggles.

The older woman beamed back at him with a warm smile. "Yes, Peter. Thank you." She murmured, setting the pot back down to the floor with a huff as she gave the plant a slight kick. "This damn thing seems to get heavier and heavier every time I try to lift it." She muttered, brushing a strand of chocolate hair out of her eyes.

Peter let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head mischievously. "And you seem to get clumsier and clumsier with each attempt." He teased, the woman giving him a light swipe on the shoulder, to which he easily avoided with a smirk.

The woman let out a small sigh before glaring up at the sky. "Well I wasn't _planning_ on moving this stupid thing anytime soon, but it looks like it's gonna rain this evening and these things aren't meant to take much water." She explained, lightly kicking the pot once again to prove her point.

Peter glance down at it before shrugging. "Well, I can help you if you'd like." He offered.

May quickly shook her head. "Oh, it's alright, Peter. That thing's pretty heavy. I wouldn't want you to hurt your-" She started, only to pause as Peter bent down and easily lifted the pot into his arms. "-self" She finished after a pause, scrunching her nose as the teen walked up the steps and deposited the pot next to the woman's covered doorway. "Where are you hiding all that muscle, Pete?" She teased, lightly poking him in the arm.

Peter ignored the uncomfortable tingle that twinged through him at the touch and shook his hands in front of his face. "I'm an enigma." He joked with a smile, May laughing beside him. "That you are, kiddo. That you are." She mused as the boy hopped down the steps once more. "SO what're you doing out here anyway? Waitin' around for opportunities to save me _and_ school me at the same time?" She smirked.

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm just heading to the store. Grocery run." He explained.

She furrowed her brow and glanced up at the darkening sky. "Now? It's near ready to pour, honey." She expressed with a hint of concern edging her voice. Peter noticed it, but said nothing about it as he shrugged once more. "Dad's orders."

He meant it as a joke, but from the way his neighbor's face quickly darkened, it was obvious she saw the truth behind it, Peter's hands clenching slightly in concern. May seemed to quickly realize the uncomfortableness on Peter's face, for she quickly brushed it away, though it was hard to mask the anger burning in her chest. "Right, I know how that feels. I had to run quite a few chores back when I was your age." She tried to lighten the mood, which was easy considering Peter was all-too happy to change the subject.

The teen tilted his head nonchalantly. "It's no big deal." He sighed, content with the fact that he wasn't tripping over his words. He usually never did around May. There was nothing to be concerned about with May. Nothing to fear.

The woman stole another glance at the sky as a small grumble of thunder echoed around them. "At least let me drive you, Pete. I don't want you catching a cold if it really _does_ start to rain." She said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Peter brushed it off politely, masking his immediate reaction of escaping the touch with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll be fine, May." He reassured her, ignoring the concerned look on her face as he decided to try another tactic. "Besides, you need to head to the diner soon anyway."

May's eyes widened slightly as she whipped her head down towards her watch, cursing under her breath as she caught sight of the time. "Damn." She muttered before throwing the teen a stink-eye. "How is it that you know my work schedule better than _I_ do?" She scoffed, Peter chuckling as she ruffled his hair.

"Just promise me you'll be careful." She murmured softly as she began to tie her hair back into a bun. As usual, a few stray strands escaped her grasp, falling down around the sides of her face, framing her cheeks perfectly. Peter gave a small nod. "I'll be _fine,_ May." He grinned back as he stepped off of the step and back down to the sidewalk.

The woman lingered at her door for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "Alright." She murmured, clearly not happy at the current events, but realizing there wasn't much she could do to fix it.

Peter waved back at her. "See you later, May. Oh! And remember to bring your notebook for class tonight!" He reminded her, the woman slapping her forehead with a groan. "Forgot I had that _too._ You're a lifesaver, Peter." She called before racing back into her apartment, intent on seeking out her journal for her night classes down at the medical center.

Peter gave a small smile and shook his head at his neighbor's forgetful mind before rubbing at the back of his neck. May was a _wonderful_ woman, and was great at getting Peter to talk.

Too good.

One of these days, she'd get him to say something he didn't mean to say. Something he wasn't _allowed_ to say. That made her _dangerous._ Not dangerous in the same way that Curt and Max and his father were, but dangerous nonetheless.

Dangerous in the same way Mr. Stark was.

He narrowed his eyes and shoved the headphones into his ears more forcefully than needed, sticking his hands into his pockets as the soft roll of thunder milled in the background. Hopefully she was wrong. Hopefully the rain would hold off.

Peter jolted slightly as he felt a cold drop of water land on the tip of his nose.

_Of course..._

* * *

**Saturday - April 2, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**07:21 p.m.**

"Tony, are you even _listening_ to us?!"

"Nope." The man popped out nonchalantly as he continued to lazily spin in his office chair, Rhodey and Pepper sharing exasperated looks as he turned and threw them a weird look. "Wait - so... _why_ are you in here again?" He asked with a bored tone, head tilting down to gaze at the open manila folder in his lap, indistinguishable papers fluttering in-between his fingertips.

Pepper gritted her teeth slightly, but otherwise held her cool as she narrowed her piercing blue eyes. "I just got off the phone with one very angry Secretary Ross." She started as her face twitched. "Apparently, you missed another on-call session with him this afternoon."

Tony didn't even bother in lifting his head as he continued to stare down at the papers in his lap. "Missed...avoided - you know these things are so ill-properly scheduled that it wouldn't be too much to wonder if maybe it was Ross who missed the call and me who was stiffed." He tossed out casually as he lightly kicked his feet underneath his desk.

Rhodey let out a small growl as he stalked forward and slammed his hand against the surface of the desk, the loud _bang_ finally catching the billionaire's attention as he lifted his gaze. "Oh would you cut the bullshit for one _fucking_ second and take something seriously for once?!" The man snapped.

Tony barely seemed phased as he flipped the folder closed and lifted his head. "Sorry, not really in my repertoire." He muttered back with a challenging look flashing in his eyes.

The colonel opened his mouth to spit out a retort, only to shut his eyes tightly as Pepper placed a hand on his shoulder, the man stepping back as he raised a hand to his face, blowing out a sigh as he ran a hand down his chin.

"Tony, you cannot keep blowing him off like this." Pepper stared up for him.

"Mmm, I'm pretty sure I can. It's pretty easy actua-"

"He is the _goddamn_ Secretary of State, Tony!" Rhodey snapped, glaring down at the man who was now tapping his fingers against the closed file. "What do you think's gonna happen when he gets tired of your shit?" He growled out, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Well, shocking as it may be, I'm not his number one priority right now." Tony muttered, left arm twinging with the same bout of phantom pains that had been plaguing it for some time. "And honestly, I don't give a _shit_ who he is, alright?" He snapped back. "He's a twit-faced asshole who could use a power check every now and then." He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose while Rhodey clenched his fists and sucked in another breath through his teeth.

"Besides, he only needs me for one thing, and I've already made it abundantly clear that I want nothing to do with it."

Rhodes narrowed his eyes at that. "Why?"

Tony threw his eyes back on the colonel. "Why what?" He muttered.

"Why are you so reluctant to help catch them?" Pepper finished.

"Because it's not my _fucking_ job, that's why!" The billionaire snapped back, eyes flashing. "They're _international_ felons, meaning their capture is up to the United Nations, meaning the Accords are in play here. And since those pencil-pushing douchebags refuse to agree on the revisions, we're on stagnating waters with those documents. Meaning I'm off duty for the time being." He explained with a cross look marring his features.

He curled his hand into a fist and lightly pounded it against the armrest of his chair before glancing back up towards the others. "Look, Ross is on the forefront of the revisions process regarding the Accords, meaning all this shit stems around him."

"They why the hell are you pushing him so much?" Rhodey scoffed. "Just give him what he wants and he'll stop making your life such a hell!"

Tony rolled his eyes. "You kidding me? That's exactly _why_ I'm fucking with him. The second I give into his little demands is the second I show him that I'm willing to bend and crawl for him and the day that happens is the day I blow my goddamn head off!" He snarled, fighting to ignore the way both Pepper and Rhodey winced at the self-harming comment. He averted his gaze and glared down at the ground.

"I'm nobody's fucking lap-dog."

Rhodey let out another exasperated breath before turning back towards the man. "So, what? You're just gonna avoid him for the rest of your life?" He scoffed.

"That, or until they catch those idiots. Honestly, whichever comes first." Tony shrugged, masking the obvious tensions that were building inside of him at the topic of conversation. The twitching in his fingers and the burning pain in his left arm were a dead giveaway, however.

"Goddamn it, Tony." The colonel cursed. "This isn't something that you can just ignore and hope that it goes away. This is serious. This is national secutiry we're talking about here and-"

Tony groaned and rolled his eyes as he flipped his head back. "Oh, don't give me that! That's-"

"What!? What is it, Tony! What?!"

"That's bullshit!"

"Why?" Rhodes snapped, more infuriated with the man than with the actual words coming from his mouth. "Are you denying that they're dangerous, that they're criminals, that they broke the law?"

"No! God, fuck - that's n- that's not what I'm saying!" Tony growled, brushing a hand over his forehead as he tightly shut his eyes, a growing pressure building up behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth together as the pressure steadily turned into a harsh thumping.

"Then what _are_ you saying, Tony?" Pepper finally chimed in, placing an appeasing hand on Rhodey's shoulder as she gestured for him to take a breath, interfering before things could get out of hand. "Because to me, it sounds like you're avoiding this because..." She trailed off for a moment, eyes shifting slightly in her uncertainty before continuing. "...because you don't want them to be caught."

"Oh, _for the love of-_ " The billionaire groaned.

"Why is Natasha still here, then?" Rhodey countered. "You have the capabilities. You have the tech, the resources. You know they're near. You know they're close. One search. One...and you could get them off your back for the rest of your life. No Ross. No Rogues. Done." The man explained, ignoring the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. He quickly dismissed it in favor of gauging his best friend's reaction.

Tony said nothing. He simply stared hard at the surface of his desk and shook his head, lips pressed into a firm line. The twinging in his arm made him squeeze his eyes shut once more as his head gave another loud throb.

Pepper carefully leaned forward, her movements slow and precise, almost as if she were dealing with a wild animal. "Tony...please think _carefully_ about this. Once Ross gets sick of all those dead ends, he's...he's gonna come for you." She breathed. "You'll be his next target."

Tony continued to shake his head, the pain he was feeling now beginning to show on his face as he grimaced, barely even registering the woman's words. "No...n-no...I sign...I signed those Accords." He said softly, his voice breathy and distracted as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, gripping his forearm tightly.

"Yeah, you did." Rhodey sighed. "But Ross will find a way to turn this around, to claim that you're obstructing justice, breaking the regulations." The man leaned forward, willing his friend to take in the gravity of his words. "He'll come after you, Tones."

For a moment, the billionaire said nothing, rubbing his forearm in a pointless attempt to quell the soreness. He lowered his head, realizing the file from before was still sitting in his lap. His eyes traveled over the heading on the folder before his brows knitted together, his face hardening as he grabbed the file and stood up from his seat.

He angrily threw the folder down onto the desk, a loud _slap_ reaching their ears as he glared back at them. "He'll _try."_ He finally growled out before stepping away from his desk and brushing past the others.

"Where are you going?" Pepper asked, her exasperated tone making Tony's fingers twitch once more.

"Out." He called over his shoulder, never even breaking his stride as he made for the elevator.

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "Tony-" He warned, only for the other man to cut him off. "What?! I'm taking your advice. You're the ones who said I shouldn't stay cooped up in this damn tower all day!" The words bounced off the walls as the man disappeared behind the corner.

The colonel let out a frustrated grunt while Pepper ran a hand down her face, her head slowly swiveling towards the desk, Rhodey's doing the same as they caught sight of the name on the file that had been in the billionaire's lap moments earlier.

_ Peter B. Parker _

* * *

**Saturday - April 2, 2016**

**Midtown East - 42nd Street**

**07:54 p.m.**

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were ashen white. He could hear the sound of the leather material squeaking as he squeezed, hands shaking under the extreme duress of his death grip.

The sound of the engine roared around him as he felt the revving of the car while it sped down the street. Lights from the tall buildings around him flared before his eyes, flashing brightly with neon yellows, greens and pinks bright enough to rival the sun. Shooting past, they all blurred into bright lines that whisked past his line of sight.

He could feel the tenseness of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and tried to resist from banging his palm against the dashboard. His tight grip allowed him to feel the blood flowing around inside his hands, the sound of his heart beating making his ears ring. He pushed his foot down harder on the pedal as the car sped up another notch.

Where he was going? He didn't know, nor did he care.

Tony grimaced slightly as he felt the usual twinge of his arm flaring back at him, but he chose to ignore it, focusing back on the road ahead of him, which was now slick and shining with the rain falling around him.

The sky was pitch black, large dark clouds concealed in its inky depths as thick grey raindrops fell, clinging to everything in dark black stains as the streets, the buildings and the surrounding cars were all coated in a glossy shine. The streets around them were milling with multicolored umbrellas, only adding to the wave of color that filled the city at night.

But the billionaire was a bit too preoccupied to really notice.

His fingers tapped angrily on the rim of the steering while as he drove along the road, silently conveying the anger radiating off of the man in vibrant waves. The echoing voices of his friends bounced off of his ears, making his grip tighten as he gritted his teeth and glared out the side windows for a moment, taking in the steady stream of cars whisking past him before focusing straight on once more.

It wasn't that they weren't right.

That was the first thing Tony came to realize as he drove, the melodic humming of the car underneath him lulling him into a mindscape of silence and self-reflection that only made his hands tighten and his muscles tense. Everything that they'd said had made sense. All of it. And he knew that. He knew it as they'd said it and he knew it now.

But hearing reality from someone else was as pointless as telling it to himself, so he didn't bother in listening anymore. He knew how dangerous it was to keep messing with Ross, the Secretary of State, someone with the power to change the Accords at a moments notice just to screw with his life.

Still, that didn't change the fact that Tony could barely stand the man, let alone cooperate with him.

Throughout his life, Tony Stark had developed an impressive skill of letting people he didn't like know such a fact without him ever having to say it. Whether it was through snarky comments, underhanded acts of pettiness or some other show of superiority. If he didn't like you, you and _everyone_ around you knew it.

Yet, despite what some would rather believe, Tony didn't just go around disliking people for no reason. Whether it was a _valid_ reason was up for debate, but the point still stood. If Tony Stark didn't like you, then there was an explanation for it.

And his reasons for hating Ross were _primo._

He'd met dozens of assholes who'd rubbed him the wrong way, but Ross just seemed to have a funny way of doing it that made the billionaire want to blast that mustache right off of his idiot face. It was as if the secretary wasn't even _trying_ to hide the fact that he enjoyed watching Tony squirm.

Not only that, but Ross had been on Tony's radar before the Accords were even an _idea._ He'd had tabs on the man ever since he'd learned of his interest in capturing the Hulk. And ever since Tony had become great friends with the alter-ego of said Hulk, Ross quickly turned into a man he'd rather not see or hear from on a daily basis.

But nothing took the cake more than the fact that the Accords and the shitstorm that came with them all circled back to Ross.

Now, Tony knew that it wasn't just the mustached-douchebag that had drummed up those damn papers. No, over a hundred countries had agreed to them, and the billionaire had to admit that he had too. In fact, he _still_ did. And he was sure he could have gotten the other Avengers to agree to it as well.

If it hadn't been for Ross.

Ever since Thor and Captain America had shown up on the ranks alongside the already loose Hulk, Tony could tell that Ross had quickly taken a dislike to..." _enhanced_ individuals", which meant the creation of the Avengers hadn't necessarily been his favorite development. Now, SHIELD and Fury had taken it upon themselves to act as their makeshift government liaison as their team had begun to form and their bonds had begun to knit together, meaning that Ross and his little schemes had never been able to get through to them.

Or course, once SHIELD fell, the floodgates were opened.

Tony had known it was only a matter of time before their actions caught up with them and the consequences were held over their heads, but the fact that it was _Ross_ dangling them had not helped convince the others of the benefits of the Accords. All they'd seen was someone like Ross pushing a new agenda onto them.

And the billionaire just _knew_ that Ross relished in the divide that the Accords had sliced into the Avengers, so much so that he did nothing to mend it. He only added to the fire, digging his hands into the wound and ripping it apart even more until Tony had no choice but to go after the Avengers himself, to follow Ross's orders and _try_ to save his family before they were slaughtered by the very government that was supposed to be on their side. And it wasn't like they could fully fight back. After all, those were good men on those teams. Men who were just following orders.

There were no bad guys in a situation like that. No justification for killing. They would have been cornered. So Tony had bitten the bullet and agreed to catch his teammates himself, to try and give them one last out before Ross had his way with them.

And they all knew how well that turned out.

Tony yanked roughly on the wheel as he turned down another lane, the tires skidding against the slick roadways.

Now, the billionaire in no sense of the matter excused the Rogue Avengers for what they had done. They'd made a choice and now they'd have to live with the consequences of said choice. But...but he knew deep down that the breaking up of the Avengers could have been avoided. It could have been avoided if Rogers had gotten his head out of his ass and decided to do something smart for once. It could have been avoided if those idiots had listened to him at the airport. And it could have been avoided if Ross had butted out and let them deal with one another themselves without the overhanging threat of a kill squad coming in to obliterate half of the team.

A flash of red above his head had the man resting his foot against the brakes as the car came to a stop at the red light. He somehow managed to unhook his hands from the steering wheel as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his face as a long tired sigh bubbled past his lips. No...he would _never_ take orders from Ross again.

Cause the last time he did . . . . it cost him his family.

For a moment, all he did was sit there, feeling the coarseness of his calloused fingers rubbing against his face as he felt the oncoming throbs of a blooming headache spreading along the back of his head. With a small breath, the man lifted his head back up, watching the people milling the street pass over the crosswalk in front of his car.

The billionaire was glad that even in his fury of exiting the tower, he'd been aware enough to take his most inconspicuous car. The last thing he needed right now was some paparazzi mob harassing him, especially when there was a high chance of him punching somebody out at the moment.

However, as his tired eyes glazed over the crowd, he couldn't help but catch sight of a figure weaving through the crowd. Normally, Tony doubted he would have picked him out at all, but considering he was the only person walking with no umbrella, it made him pretty noteworthy.

The man couldn't help but scoff as he watched the figure, which he could assume was a teenager from the short stature, mill between people while looking very much like a drowned rat, complete with two armfuls full of groceries.

"What an idiot..." He muttered to himself with a smirk and a roll of his eyes, only to pause as he took in a better look of the figure, which...now that he was _really_ looking at him...was incredibly skinny...with pale white skin and a mop of brown hair...

The billionaire leaned forward as he squinted his eyes and tried to take in as much of the "stranger" as possible. "That can't be..." He murmured to himself, the words dying as the figure twisted around and exposed his face towards Tony's car. A face with unnaturally-bright brown eyes.

The man squinted his eyes shut and let out a very long sigh. "Shit, that's _my_ idiot." He groaned to himself as he watched Peter finish crossing the street and disappear around one of the building corners.

Watching as the last of the pedestrians finished crossing the street, Tony pressed his foot on the gas and rounded the same corner, quickly catching sight of the boy as he walked, sticking as close to the edges of the buildings as possible, as if he were trying to cover himself with the small concrete outcroppings. Though considering how he looked like the victim of a drowning attempt, it was safe to say he wasn't succeeding.

The teen hoisted two grocery bags in his arms, which seemed to be filled to the brim if the bulging of the paper bags was any indication. For a moment, Tony just sat their, the car pulled off to the side of the road as he watched and wondered what the best course of action was. After all, it was Saturday, meaning Tony was the last person Peter would be expecting to see, let alone the last person to offer him a ride home. That made his chances of getting shot down much higher, knowing the teen would probably give some lame excuse and say he didn't wanna inconvenience him.

Besides, if the kid said he could handle himself, then who was Tony to disagree? Besides, with the mood he was in right now, the billionaire doubted it was a good idea to bring Peter into the mix with the threat of saying something insensitive to the teen. The last thing he wanted was to take a step back in the progress they were making.

A loud roll of thunder clapped overhead, Peter jumping slightly as he hugged his body against the building wall for a moment, his form tense and uptight.

Tony watched for another moment before making up his mind. It was best to just leave the kid be. It wouldn't do either of them any favors to jeopardize the slow progress they were making. And throwing their little routine off balance might do just that. It was only logical.

That was that.

Leave the kid be.

Drive off.

. . . .

. . . .

His tires screeched as he sped up and quickly caught up to the teen, his passenger window rolling down even faster.

_God dammit..._

Peter quickly spun around at the loud noise, dripping face scrunching in slight confusion as he watched the car pull up. However, his eyes quickly widened as he caught sight of _who_ was driving.

"Amazing who you run into on the streets these days, huh?"

"M-Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah. Hi. So are you enjoying your afternoon stroll? You know, I hear they can be incredibly relaxing, especially when you're not encumbered by useless things like...umbrellas...and working immune systems."

"Mr. _Stark?"_

Yeah, two for two, kid. Anyway, correct me if I'm wrong but I'm almost 75% certain that walking around in the pouring rain when it's fifty degrees out perhaps _isn't_ the best idea you've come up with."

The teen couldn't do more than stutter for a moment as he tried to process whether or not the person in front of him really _was_ Tony Stark?

"We gonna make it three for three? Here, I'll save you the trouble. _Yes,_ it _is_ me, Tony Stark."

He certainly _sounded_ like Mr. Stark.

"I...w-what...what are you... _doing_ here?" The teen was finally able to choke out, now unconsciously trying to hide the shivers traveling up and down his body. The billionaire cocked a brow as he simply looked the teen up and down.

Apparently it was enough for Peter to get the message of _'I could ask you the same thing'_ as he let out a nervous chuckle and shifted his feet, stealing a small glance at the covered tarp-overhang he was inching towards. "Ah, just...p-picking up some g-groceries." He chuckled uneasily.

Tony noticed the slight stutter, but he was willing to bet it was more from the cold than anything else. "Uh-huh. And...you decided that the middle of a hurricane is the perfect time for you to get all excited about the Buy One Get One 25% off Cheetos or something?"

Peter gently tilted his head side to side in thought, something Tony was quickly picking up as another one of the boy's quirks.

"Actually, a storm like this wouldn't really be considered a hurricane considering the top wind speeds haven't topped the minimum for just a Category One storm and it's actually not all that uncommon for people to be out and about in weather like this cause it usually means the lines at the more commonly traversed places like malls and stores aren't as crowded as they usually are so people aren't as bothered by the huge swarms of people and can just slip in and out relatively faster than they usually can on a day with more calmer weather patterns and-"

He stopped as a small crumpled-up gum wrapper was thrown at his nose, harmlessly bouncing off before falling to his feet. However, it did the job of effectively shutting him up.

He stared at it for a moment before turning back up to look at Mr. Stark, who was shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose once more. "Kid, you're killing me here. All I'm asking is why you're out here at this particular time of night in this particular type of weather. Isn't there a better time to be doing grocery shopping? And don't give me the statistics. Cause I know for a fact that anyone crazy enough to be out here _willingly_ would at least have a small semblance of sense to bring an umbrella."

Peter quickly seemed to tense for a moment before falling limp once more, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "I d-didn't know it was gonna rain. Besides, today's Grocery Day. Meaning I need to get groceries _today_. Not tomorrow. Not the day after that. _Today._ Dad's orders." He added with a small smile and a shrug.

Judging from the look Tony gave him, it didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the puddle pooling at his feet as he finally found a slight reprieve from the pouring rain as he stepped underneath the overhang he'd been eyeing before. However, without the continuous stream of rain pouring down onto him, he was finally able to feel just how soaked he truly was.

"Look, I wouldn't be out here if I didn't have to be, alright?" He muttered, glaring down at the ground as he felt his cheeks begin to grow warm underneath the scrutinizing stare of the billionaire before him. His fingers curled slightly behind his back as he prayed the man would just accept his answer and drive off.

Tony remained silent for a moment before cocking a brow. "Mm-hmm. And just _where_ is your father, exactly?"

Peter shrugged. "Said something about business. I don't know. I'm not supposed to - I _didn't_ ask." He faltered slightly before correcting himself, hoping Mr. Stark hadn't picked up on his slip.

If the billionaire caught his trip up, he didn't let it on as he glanced away and pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth. "So, nobody's expecting you home right now?"

The kid shook his head. "Nobody'd be there to notice." He explained. "Which I g-guess is a blessing. I can only imagine what the Cons would say if they saw me like this." He muttered with a roll of his eyes as he gestured to his soaking form, already imaging their laughs echoing in his head.

The man stared at him for a moment longer, taking in his waterlogged figure and shivering frame as droplets of water splashed down onto his papery-white nose, which only made his tawny eyes stand out even more. Finally, after a second of hesitation, the billionaire let out a long, exasperated sigh before leaning over towards the passenger side and throwing open the door.

"Get in."

Peter faltered slightly at that, cocking his head as strands of hair pressed against his forehead. "W-what?"

"We're closer to the tower than we are to your house and - _why_ _is that?_ Aren't there a ton of grocery stores near your house?" The man asked with a tone of confusion.

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "The stores near my house d-don't have the kind of beer the C-Cons like and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! How are you getting your hands on alcohol when you literally look like a ten-year-old?" The billionaire gaped, ignoring the indignant look Peter threw his way.

Choosing to ignore the remark, Peter huffed slightly. "I k-know the store owner out here. He knows how to keep a secret."

Tony couldn't help but scoff in disbelief as he shook his head and ran a hand down his face. Peter rubbed his arm slightly, the grocery bags jostling as he did so, unsure of if he'd made the man angry or not.

"Okay, I...whatever, just get in the frikkin car."

The teen shook his head, face growing distressed. "You r-really don't have to do that, Mr. Stark. I'm fine w-walking home."

"It's a thirty-minute walk." The man deadpanned.

"Not . . . .if I ignore the crosswalks and all safety precautions?"

They exchanged silent looks for a moment before Tony shook his head. "Nuh-uh, get in."

"Thank you, really. B-but I swear I'll be fine." Peter started, only to sigh as Tony cut him off once more.

"If by fine you mean great at catching pneumonia, then yeah. You're super. In. Now."

"R-really, it's alright."

"It's really not."

"I don't w-wanna...ruin the seats in your car."

"I literally have five of the exact same car, all in different colors."

"I...geez, you have way too much money."

"Eh."

The exchange swapped back and forth a few more times before Tony slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. "Damn it, kid! Just...get in the frikkin car! You're holding up traffic!"

Peter cocked a brow and craned his neck to look behind the car, taking note of the empty street before glancing back at the man. "You know what I mean. Just get in the car before I drag you in here myself."

"I think that technically counts as kidnapping, Mr. Stark."

"Peter, you're soaked to the bone."

The teen, in a rare feat of frustration, shook the bags in his hands and lightly stomped the ground before him with his foot. "Mr. Stark, I appreciate the offer. Really I do. But I'm perfectly capable of walking home by myself. Besides I-"

Before he could finish his statement, a loud ripping sound was heard as the tarp-covered overhang above his head finally gave way underneath the pressure of the water it was holding, releasing a torrent of rushing water flooding overtop Peter's head like a waterfall holding _gallons_ of water.

Tony said nothing as he watched the scene unfold, merely rested his cheek against a propped up fist and enjoyed with a relaxed smile on his face.

As the water finally emptied out, Peter stood still in his place, fists still tightly gripping the grocery bags as if his life depended on it as his face held a look of annoyance and resignation. "- couldn't possibly get any wetter." He finally finished with a strained voice.

Without another word, the teen trudged over to the open car door, socks squeaking at the water filling his shoes as he sat down in the plush leather seats, dropped the grocery bags onto the floor and slammed the car door shut, not even bothering in feeling nervous as his body was filled with nothing but annoyance.

Tony couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face as he reached behind him and grabbed a spare towel he kept in the back for emergencies, throwing it over towards the teen, who caught it without even looking up. "Thanks." He murmured softly as he began to scrub his face, only to pause as Tony reached into the back seats once more and pulled out a small pink cocktail umbrella, opening it up with his thumb and forefinger before handing it over to Peter.

"Never wanna be caught unprepared."

"What? For rain or surprise cocktails?"

"Either."

"Why do you even have this?"

"You have no idea the things this car has seen, kid. Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"Noted."

With that, the car began to speed off towards the tower, now with _two_ passengers in tow.

The rain had lightened slightly to the point where you could actually _see_ the road in front of you. The thick drops of water continuously streamed overtop the windows and windshield as the car sped down the road, the soft hum of the engine mingling with the gentle lull of the heater, which helped make the car warm and toasty inside.

Peter tapped his fingers against his knee as he stared out the window, chin propped up on his fist as he lazily watched the cars and pedestrians passing by on the street. He could feel the warmth of the heater blowing hot air around him, slowly drying his soaked clothes and dripping hair until they were left damp and slightly uncomfortable as they stuck to his skin, but much dryer than when he'd first entered the car, which he was grateful for.

However, the uncomfortableness of his clothes mirrored the uncomfortableness he was beginning to feel inside.

He'd resisted the urge to steal glances at Mr. Stark throughout the ride, keeping his eyes locked onto the raindrops sliding down his window, but he could almost _feel_ the man looking at him from time to time, scanning him, observing him. It made his skin prick up and his hands curl slightly into the hem of his shirt.

He hadn't been expecting to run into the man today. Usually, he was able to plan out a little more before they met, their scheduled meetings allowing him to do just this. Running scenarios in his head usually helped him ensure that he wouldn't slip up whenever he talked to the billionaire, a tick he revealed whenever he was frazzled, say...like walking home alone in the pouring rain.

At least when he was prepared, he was... _ready_ to meet the man. Assured slightly of their interaction and the confidence that he woudn't slip up and reveal something he wasn't supposed to.

At least when he was prepared, he knew not to let his guard down.

This, however, was an entirely different story. There had been no planning. No internal debates and monologues. This had been sudden. Unexpected. _Unprepared._ He had no plan. No backup plan. No backup to the backup plan. He had nothing. He was just a kid sitting in the car of a man who threatened everything he'd been hiding and working to perfect for almost ten years now.

However, as he sat there and absentmindedly counted the raindrops as they appeared on his window, he couldn't help but think that maybe his nervousness came from something else. That maybe it wasn't just the threat of spilling something he wasn't supposed to that had him all jittery. That maybe...it was the threat of jeopardizing their progress.

Peter wasn't an idiot. He knew that Mr. Stark was trying to get him to open up, trying to get him to ease and warm up to him. Why? He had no idea. He was _still_ trying to figure out why the billionaire even wanted him _around,_ let along wanted him to relax around him. But, the teen would be lying if he said it wasn't working.

He could see it in the way he walked, lifting his head more instead of tucking his chin near his chest. He could see it in the way he spoke, not tripping over his words as much around the billionaire as with other people. He could see it in the way he acted, smiling and laughing without restraint, checking and correcting himself on a much smaller scale compared to when he was home.

He was...changing. And that was dangerous.

And he _knew_ this. He _knew_ it was dangerous just as he knew it was dangerous to stay so close to May. And yet, with every joke he laughed at, every invention they brainstormed together, every...meeting they had, Peter found himself craving their interactions just a little bit more each and every time.

So maybe _that_ was why he was so nervous about interacting with the man without any sort of plan or preparation. Because the more he left it up to change, the higher the risk of saying something stupid or doing something dumb that made Mr. Stark realize just how useless it was keeping him around.

Without a plan, he ran a risk of jeopardizing their progress.

Not able to restrain himself any longer, the teen stole a small peek at the man sitting across from him. Tony hadn't said anything since he'd entered the car, simply keeping one lazy hand on the wheel as he rested the other one on the side of his door, resting a cheek against his fist in a similar fashion to the teen.

Peter stared at him for a moment longer before lowering his gaze to stare down into his lap.

_Whatever you do, Parker. DON'T blow this..._ _cause it's the only thing going right in your life right now._

Tony glanced over at the boy right as he turned away and stared down at his lap. The billionaire noticed the tenseness of his hands and the stiffness in his shoulders and tried to suppress a sigh. He hadn't even _said_ anything yet and the kid was already nervous.

Having decided it would be best to keep the car ride quiet to avoid any awkward conversations they couldn't escape from seeing as how they were both in a moving vehicle and he really didn't feel like jumping out of a window anytime soon, Tony silently listened to the raindrops splatter onto the roof of his car, tiny drumbeats rhythmically dancing around the metal.

Resisting the urge to glance back at the kid next to him, he decided to try and take his mind off of him as well.

Pepper and Rhodey probably wouldn't be expecting him back so soon after he'd stormed off, so they'd probably have the penthouse to themselves. He supposed this little meeting had its silver linings considering Pepper and Rhodes would refrain from lecturing him anymore tonight while Peter was around.

The raindrops began to fall harder as Tony started to devise up an impromptu plan.

The kid was still pretty... _drippy_ so he'd grab him some dry clothes (considering how small the teen was, they probably wouldn't fit him well but dry was dry) and maybe force him to eat something before getting Happy to drive him back home.

Short and sweet. Right to the point. After all, that was all he really needed to do. Dry him up, get him food, then send him on his way. Hopefully, he'd be able to fulfill that plan better than his previous failed plan twenty minutes ago, which had resulted in a soaking teen ruining the seats in his car.

The rest of the ride was completed in silence, neither party wanting to stir up the already tense air between them. Instead, they simply listened to the soundtrack that was the rainstorm currently showering down around them. The clouds overhead had begun to fade into the background of the already deepening sky now that the sun had officially gone down and nighttime was stretching over the skies. Black melded with black and the atmosphere above resembled a pool of spilled tar with swirls of dark grey that slashed and twisted between each other in intricate dances.

The rain hissed in the air as the car drove past, water splashing up along the sidewalks, the storefronts, the windows. Thick black drops clinging to everything like spilled ink dripping from a pen made the city around them dark and bleak with rare sheens of light from the water-slicked metal surfaces reflecting the lights of Town Square behind them.

The wavering atmosphere and dark undertones seemed to fill their senses to a degree so high that Tony barely even realized when they were approaching the tower, nearly missing his turn.

Nevertheless, the car quickly pulled into the tower's pathway, the restricted gates automatically opening from the sensors on his car as he quickly sped past, the telltale electric hum behind him notifying him that the blocker had once again been activated as they'd passed. With that, they pulled around towards the back side of the tower, dipping down onto the path towards the parking garage.

As they approached a covered awning that led to the garage, the pouring rain suddenly ceased as they reached cover, the thick silence quickly muffling their ears in a stark contrast to the pounding hissing from before.

Quickly pulling into his usual parking spot, Tony quickly shut off the engine, the car falling silent once more. Peter, who seemed to have been zoning out for most of the ride, jumped as Tony opened the door and stepped out of the car, the teen quickly fumbling with the handle as he did the same.

Now that he was moving again, the teen was annoyingly aware of just how damp and uncomfortable his clothes still were, shivering slightly at the cool atmosphere of the underground garage. Eyes falling on the billionaire as he walked past, Peter fell into line behind him.

Making their way over towards the elevator near the back of the garage, Tony moved to the side and allowed the younger charge into the elevator before stepping in himself, the doors closing behind them.

"Take us up to the penthouse, Fri." Tony called, the elevator humming to life without a sound, the AI quickly doing as she was told with no hesitation.

Peter said nothing as he shuffled slightly from one foot to the other, casually trying to wrap his arms around himself as to not let Mr. Stark notice while also trying to gain a little bit of warmth back into the air-conditioned space.

Despite his best efforts to conceal it, Tony obviously took notice of the teen's shivering, for it wasn't even a second latter before he called out once more. "And cut the air conditioning while you're at it, Fri."

" _Yes, boss."_

Peter cast the man a meek glance but quickly looked back down towards the floor, deciding it best to just keep his mouth shut. It was safer that way, he told himself as he simply stared at his shoes, the toes scuffing against the metal floor.

If Tony caught on to the teen's nervousness, he said nothing about it, which Peter was grateful for.

After another minute or so, the elevator slowed to a stop before the doors opened onto a floor that Peter now recognized as the floor Tony had brought him to on Wednesday, everything looking exactly the same.

Tony wasted no time in stepping out of the elevator, Peter quickly following after him. He jolted to a stop, however, when the man whirled around to face him. "Hold up here for a sec, kid. I'll be right back." He murmured, the teen staring at him for a second before nodding his head, watching as the man turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway next to the kitchen, leaving Peter along in the grand room.

For a moment, the teen simply stood there, unsure as to whether or not he was allowed to walk around the penthouse floor. Considering he'd already bee up here before, he could very well assume he was. Then again, Mr. Stark had been present then, so maybe the man didn't want him snooping without him to supervise where he did and didn't stick his nose.

Nevertheless, Peter couldn't help but let his curiosity get the best of him as his eyes caught sight of the large glass walls exposing the city below them. His shoes squelched against the cold floor below as he walked over, peering out of the transparent walls and down towards the street below.

The rain hadn't let up on their drive. If anything, it was coming down harder than before. The sky above looked like the world below was on fire and all of the ash and smoke had caught in the atmosphere, shrouding the land in complete darkness, save for a few swirled of dark grey clouds and deep blue trails. The rain splattered hard against the glass, thick drops sliding down, mingling together before falling back down towards the Earth in large sheets of water.

Peter's bright hazel eyes drifted upwards as he caught sight of a bright flash of light that split the sky, crackling to life as it illuminated the clouds and sparked through the air like sparklers shining in the night before it instantly disappeared as quickly as it'd come.

The teen tore his gaze away after a second, turning to take in the penthouse once more, only to jump and let out a small yelp as a clap of thunder shook the floor and tore at his eardrums, the entire tower seeming to quake at the full force of the explosion-like cacophony.

Peter stumbled backwards and gripped the nearby couch, fingers curling tightly into the material as his wide eyes stared out towards the window, watching the raindrops continue to pound against the glass like wild animals clawing at their cages, desperate the reach the inhabitants on the other side. He panted slightly, breathy gasps dribbling from his lips as he tried to get his frantic heartbeat under control.

Another roll of thunder cracked through the atmosphere, Peter flinching violently at the sound.

_It's...it's just thunder. It's just thunder._

He repeated the mantra to himself as he rubbed circles into the back of his hand, determined to calm himself from his ridiculous panic. Still, it was hard not to envision the telltale crack of gunshots in his mind as another bang rattled around the tower. Nevertheless, he couldn't let Mr. Stark see how childish he was being. So the teen quickly sucked in a breath, shut his eyes tightly as another roll of thunder sounded, and forced himself to release his grip on the couch.

_You're fine. Everything's okay._

" _Shh, shh, shh, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."_

Peter couldn't help but let out a small sigh at that as he finally opened his eyes once more, folding his arms protectively over his chest as he seemed to deflate, sliding down to sit on the ground with his back leaning against the couch.

He'd been afraid of thunder every since he was four-years-old.

Suddenly feeling more more exhausted than he had been before, Peter shut his eyes and rested his head on his knees, muscles coiling with each crack of thunder that rolled past, though he continued to keep his breathing under control.

Tony watched from the corner of the room, his shoulder pressing into the side of the wall as he stood, half-concealed in the hallway. He stared at the boy, who tensed and curled in tighter with each roll of thunder, looking absolutely miserable, his soaked appearance not helping in the slightest.

The billionaire couldn't help but sigh at the sight, running a hand down his face as he suddenly felt just as tired as Peter looked to be. For about the hundredth time since he'd decided to make the kid his intern, Tony once again wondered what he'd gotten himself into as he rounded the corner and approached the teen.

He fully expected Peter to bolt to his feet and act like he'd never even moved from his original spot in the first place. However, he was genuinely surprised when the teen did nothing but wearily lift his head, eyes heavy and dull as he stared up at the billionaire.

For a moment, the two did nothing. They simply stared at one another, drinking in the looks on each other's faces. Their eyes, similar in color, held so many differences. One's weak and faded, pain and anguish flowing through the hazel irises while the other held emptiness, loneliness, a missing elements of sorts. Something that had once been there, but was now gone.

Unable to bear the reflections they saw in each other, they turned away, Tony extending out a sweater towards the boy. Peter hesitated for a moment before taking the article of clothing, a soft murmur of gratitude falling from his lips as Tony directed him towards the nearest bathroom so he could change.

The boy's retreating footsteps echoed softly throughout the room, painfully reminding Tony of the emptiness that was once a full and bustling tower. Glancing over at the rain sliding down his windows, the man trudged over to the kitchen and plopped down in one of the chairs, resting an elbow on the counter as he placed his head into the palm of one of his hands.

The dreary weather outside perfectly matched the storm brewing inside of him. Today had been nothing but one shitty thing after another. Getting hounded by Ross, lectured by Pepper and Rhodey, and now Peter, as if today hadn't been enough of a roller coaster.

As he thought back to it, Tony couldn't help but drift back over Ross, his argument with the others echoing in the back of his mind like the soft footsteps around the tower.

It wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Ross was used to getting what he wanted. So the longer Tony refused him, the angrier and more desperate he'd become. But still, was it worth giving into Ross's demands? Doing his dirty work? Getting him involved with the people around him?

He froze at that last thought. There weren't many people around him at _all_ nowadays. Mainly just Pepper and Rhodey. Happy usually got dragged into whatever they'd do and Vision...well, Tony didn't know if the android was even in the _states._ He assumed not. He didn't really ask too many questions. The android never really gave too many answers.

But still, if today's recent encounters had taught him anything, it was that his list of people had just expanded, cause now he had Peter. Now, he knew that Pepper could hold her own against even the scariest bureaucrats, and Rhodey was a pro at handling the politics and lawmakers nowadays. But Peter? Peter was just a kid. A kid who was involved with him now.

That already put the teen at a disadvantage.

Still, it made Tony realize that with Ross came the threat of having the Secretary closer. Having him snoop. Having his watchful eye on him and those around him, including Peter.

The man dwelled on the thought for a moment longer before quickly resolving himself to a decision.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't help Ross. Not because it'd mean stepping off of his pedestal and falling under the orders of another. Not because it threatened the safety of his ex-teammates. Not even because he absolutely despised the man with every fiber in his being.

But because he couldn't put Peter in danger like that. He refused to. Ross would have to fight him tooth and nail just to get a _glimpse_ of the kid. And even then, Tony would never budge. Cause Ross had already messed with him, messed with his friends, his family.

But he wasn't getting Peter. He _refused_ to give him the satisfaction.

Before Tony could question why he was fighting so hard for a kid he'd only known for a short time, Peter returned.

A large AC-DC logo was plastered onto the front of the large black sweater, the dark color only making the usual paleness of the teen stand out even more, save for the light flush of pink around his nose and cheeks. However, the sweater was obviously made for someone much bigger than him, for it drooped past his waist and swallowed his hands, the sleeves extending out past his fingertips, the fabric flopping around with each move of his arms.

Tony couldn't help but let out a snicker at the sight of the boy, who now looked to be even younger than usual, if such a thing were even possible. "Geez, kid. You look like you should be selling cookies for Cub Scouts or something."

Peter couldn't help but scrunch his nose at that, the look losing much of its intimidation as he flopped the sleeves of the sweater around. "You're the one that gave me the sweater that looks like it was made for the Hulk."

"You're warm, aren't you?"

"Yeah, a warm Cub Scout."

Tony scoffed in amusement before beckoning the teen over, Peter slowly making his way over as the billionaire hopped off of the stool and Peter replaced him. The man moved to enter the kitchen before turning back towards the kid. "Now, I'm not much of a betting man, mainly cause I've been banned from nearly all the casinos in Vegas, but I think I'm safe to assume that you haven't eaten anything recently, hmm?

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as his stomach gave a loud gurgle. Tony cocked a brow while Peter gave a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...I was gonna eat s-something when I got home." _(He knows you're lying.)_

"Right. Well, what'll it be, kid?" The man asked, ignoring the fact that feeding this kid now seemed to be a regular thing. Whatever. He had food to spare. He had a _lot_ to spare.

Peter thought about it for a moment, seeming to only hesitate slightly before answering with a tilt of his head, brown curls draping to the side. "Do you have any cereal?"

Tony furrowed his brows at that and leaned towards the kid as he rested his elbow on the counter. "Cereal? Really? You... _do_ know I'm a billionaire right? Not even, like, _gourmet_ cereal?"

Peter let out a small laugh before shaking his head. Tony blew out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, kid," he mused before heading over to the clouded doors near the back of the kitchen. Knocking his fist against the glass, the clouded effect instantly dissipated, leaving clear glass that allowed him to see inside of the large space.

Seeming to find what he was looking for, Tony opened the door and grabbed a few boxes from the upper shelves of the pantry, shutting the door with the back of his foot as he dropped the boxes in front of the sitting teen. Grabbing a few bowls and a couple of spoons, he returned and watched as Peter inspected the boxes for a moment before grabbing the Coco Puffs.

Pouring himself a bowl, Peter couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Tony looked up and threw him a look. "What?"

The teen shook his head. "Nothing. It's just..." He trailed off for a moment unsure as to whether or not he should continue before shrugging. "...I wouldn't have expected someone like you to have Coco Puffs and Fruity Pebbles in their pantry."

Tony couldn't help but huff in amusement at that before roughly jerking the box of Fruity Pebbles into his hand. "What? Just cause I'm a billionaire means I can't like Fruity Pebbles. Their _magically delicious,_ Peter!"

"That's Lucky Charms."

"Same difference!"

The teen laughed as he poured some milk into his bowl, sliding it over towards the man before stirring his spoon around in the liquid. Tony did the same before glancing back up towards the boy. "So." He plopped the milk carton back down onto the counter, Peter lifting his head to look at him. "What's with you and breakfast?"

The crack of thunder that rolled outside timed up perfectly with the teen as he tilted his head and furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

The billionaire shrugged as he stirred his cereal. "Well I'm just saying. For the last couple times you've been over here, it's been like a breakfast bar in a shitty hotel." He shrugged. "We even had a traumatic kitchen nightmare experience where breakfast was my doom and downfall." He pointed his spoon threateningly at the kid. "Thanks, by the way, for making me hate anything to do with eggs now."

Peter chuckled at that. He thought about the man's words for a moment, taking that time to place a spoonful of cereal into his mouth before swallowing. He tapped the spoon against the side of the bowl, a soft _tinking_ sound reaching their ears before the boy finally responded.

"Back when I was little, w-we didn't really have a lot of money. P-Parkstem Labs hadn't really expanded into anything big so...b-basically we just kinda scrounged by." He explained, the billionaire across from him listening intently. "And considering we were kinda living from paycheck to paycheck, our pantry wasn't always...fully stocked."

He shrugged his shoulders, swirling the spoon in the cereal once more as another rumble of thunder echoed outside. "M-my mom would have to figure out how to make the best out of what we had, which was usually a few leftover eggs, some miscellaneous meats and tons and tons of beat-up discount cereal boxes."

"I-I was pretty young at the time so I didn't really notice that we'd constantly be having...like, breakfast for dinner or egg sandwiches or cereal buffets as my m-mom would call them." He chuckled. " She'd basically just line up all the boxes we had and pour me a little bit from each one, which now that I'm thinking about it...k-kinda seems a little gross."

"A little?" Tony echoed with skepticism, smirking as Peter let out a humored huff.

The billionaire couldn't help but grow just a little happier as he saw Peter's face crack into a grin as the teen laughed to himself. "You know, actually...n-now that I'm thinking about it...she'd do a lot of stuff like that. She'd dress t-the vacuum cleaner up like a monster and let me chase it around the house, she'd make little origami creatures and string them all around the house, she'd even make little forts with me in the k-kitchen using the dining room table." He chuckled.

Tony couldn't help but smile himself at the happiness spreading on the boy's face.

Peter continued to stare down at the swirling bowl of milk in front of him before letting out a small sigh and shrugging his shoulders. "It seems stupid now, I guess. I mean, breakfast had always been my favorite meal of the day and I love those little origami things and building forts is still the coolest thing so I guess it's c-cause of stuff like that, but...I don't know. Just d-doesn't seem like the type of thing you'd remember." He murmured. "Just seems...so small, like...like such a little thing."

He lowered his gaze. "But...I guess it's t-the little things I remember the most, you know?"

Tony stared at him for a moment, unsure as to how to respond. The boy didn't seem to want to say anything more, for he grabbed his spoon and lifted more cereal to his mouth, effectively shutting himself up.

The billionaire said nothing in return, too lost in his own thoughts to really put anything into words. For a moment, he simply stared down at the swirling flakes of cereal swimming in the bowl of milk on the counter. The soft clinking of metal spoons reached their ears, the only sound in the empty tower save for the pounding of rain on the windows and the occasional crack of thunder from outside that left low rumbles shivering throughout the kitchen.

"They were for the team."

Peter startled in his seat at the sudden words, lifting his head to stare at the billionaire. "What?"

Tony seemed to hesitate for a moment before giving a shrug of his shoulders, leaning back in his chair. "All those boxes of cereal...the only reason I have them is cause the other Avengers used to eat like, twenty boxes a week." He murmured with a shrug. "Figured I had to be stocked at all times. But nowadays, there aren't many people to finish them off." He twirled his spoon around. "So they just kinda sit there collecting dust."

Peter stared at the man for a moment. To anyone else, Tony would have seemed as indifferent as always, leaning back, posture relaxed, eyes watching the spoon and the trials it left in the milk. However, Peter noticed the small details. The slight tenseness in the man's shoulders. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly. The tapping of his foot against the floor.

It was obvious the man was uncomfortable in sharing what he'd just shared.

So why had he? It wasn't like Peter had pressed him on it or anything. He'd shared it by his own volition, as if he'd made himself to it out of some sort of obligation. Despite the confusion the teen obviously felt on the subject, he couldn't help but be a bit curious. After all, it wasn't everyday that Mr. Stark brought up the Avengers, meaning such a topic was now open for discussion, if only for a moment.

"W-which Avenger would eat what?" His small voice chimed in.

Tony glanced up at him, drinking in his question. Peter was right in thinking that opening such a topic had been uncomfortable for the billionaire. In fact, it was about his least favorite subject nowadays right alongside the Accords and Ross. And yet, hearing the boy open up about his mother, a topic Tony was _sure_ could he a definite sore spot for the boy in certain circumstances, Tony couldn't help but feel... _obligated_ to share something as well. After all, if the boy could trust him enough to share something painful, then maybe Tony could as well.

Even if it _was_ just cereal preferences.

With that thought in mind, the man smirked. "Well, Natasha, or Black Widow as more people know her by, would usually just stick to some black coffee. But there were days where I'd catch her with some Coco Puffs." He chuckled, Peter smiling across the counter. "Clint, or Hawkeye would usually fight over the Fruity Pebbles with Sam. Wanda, whenever she wasn't attempting to make biscuits that weren't burnt black would typically go for some Honey Nut Cheerios, and Thor, on the rare occasions he was here, loved eating Lucky Charms." The billionaire rolled his eyes. "He said something about them bringing him _fortune_ throughout the day or some shit like that."

Peter couldn't help but laugh as the billionaire chuckled alongside him.

The teen quieted for a moment before glancing back up. "And Captain America?"

Tony paused at that, falling silent for a moment as his face fell neutral. Peter winced inwardly for a moment, fearing he might have stepped to far, only to let out a breath as Tony shrugged his shoulders. "Basically what you'd expect. An all-round stereotypical American breakfast: eggs, bacon, white toast, orange juice, and like thirty bowls of Frosted Flakes." He scoffed, Peter letting out a chuckle.

The billionaire let out a sigh of annoyance as he waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, well. Now I got like a hundred boxes of cereal with nobody to eat them." He muttered with a scoff that _tried_ to convey more frustration than sadness.

Key word: _tried_

Peter was quick to pick up on this, however, as he paused for a moment before letting a smile slip onto his face. "Well, I don't know , Mr. Stark. I-I have a pretty big appetite, so I should be able to help you out there."

Tony stared at him for a moment before letting a small smile of his own pass over his face. "I'll hold you to that."

The two stared at each other for a second longer, each understanding the underlying messages passing between their words. Tony, not one for emotional moments, was quick in pulling away and clearing his throat. "Yeah, well, just steer clear of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, alright? Pepper and Rhodey are still pissed about the whole _'Spider-Man not even being old enough to drive'_ thing. I'd hate to see what they'd do to me if I let you eat all their cereal."

"...what?"

Tony lifted his head at the small voice. "Huh?"

Peter stared back at the man, fingers twitching as his muscles coiled, eyes filling with dread and fear. "W-what did you say?" The boy whispered out, voice shaky and terse.

Tony, who was now reading the back of the Fruity Pebbles box let out a humored huff. "Alright, _fine_. I'll just buy some more Cinnamon Toast Crunch if you're so set on it. But honestly, I don't know what you guys see in that tasteless garb-"

"N-no, no. W...what was t-that you said a-about P-Pepper...and Rhodey...a-and..." Tony finally looked up as he caught wind of the boy's stuttering response, such a thing never a good sign. Neither was the fact that the boy's face held a look of resigned terror.

"T-they...they know? They know I'm Spider-Man?" ( _I told you.)_

The man stared back at Peter for a moment, masking the unsettled feelings passing over him at the looks on the teen's face by shrugging his shoulder and hoping his calm demeanor would somehow reflect off of the boy. "Just the stuff I told them and-"

He didn't get to finish as Peter let out an audible choke of air. "G-god, you-" He stuttered, hands curling into fists as he stared with wide, fear-filled eyes. He licked his lips, a small breathy chuckle falling from his lips. Though from the pained look on his face, it was obvious the boy wasn't amused at all. "You...I-I...I thought you...y-you said you w-wouldn't..." None of the sentences ever made it to completion however as the teen found himself short of breath all of a sudden.

"Y-you _told_ them." It wasn't a question. _(You did this to yourself.)_

Tony quickly picked up on where the situation was headed, standing up from his seat. "Wait a minute now-"

However, as soon as the man made to move closer, Peter was stumbling out of his seat as well, the metal stool clattering to the floor with a loud _clang_. Tony winced at the sound as Peter shakily backed up, the rumbling thunder outside doing little to calm his frayed nerves as he pointed a shaky finger towards the man. "I thought you...and t-the...oh, god."

He was lying. The man was lying. He _had_ to be lying. There was no way he'd done it. None. He couldn't believe it. He _wouldn't_ believe it.

" _You seriously think someone like Tony is going to back you up when it comes to Ross ad his personal agendas or whatever?"_

Sam's words rang painfully in the back of his head as he tried and failed to convince himself that he was overreacting. That the man hadn't just jeopardized his one sense of calm and security, that he _hadn't_ just broken the small semblance of trust the teen was starting to feel.

The doubt that had been plaguing his mind ever since his run-in with the Falcon slowly began to bubble to the surface. The fears that had been plaguing him ever since he'd wondered about what the Accords would mean for him, what they would entail with his identity, the danger that would come from exposing it. The more people that knew who he was, the greater threat it was to him.

He'd taken solace in the fact that Mr. Stark had been around the only true person who knew, the only person he'd hoped to trust with such a secret.

But, of course, he'd been wrong. So. _F_ _ucking. Wrong. (You've just jeapordized everything. They'll find out. They always find out eventually.)_

Kid just listen to me for a second here." Tony tried to say, but he wasn't too sure Peter had even heard him as the teen let out another laugh of disbelief, face pale and cheeks red as his body jerked with another crash of lightning igniting from outside, illuminating the darkening tower in piercing white light for a split second before falling dim once more.

"I...I-I thought you...How _could you?!"_ Peter exclaimed, shaky voice slowly building up as the teen's fearful expression began to morph into one of anger and his shaking hands slowly curled into fists. This _wasn't_ happening. He _refused_ to believe that his once source of levity was beginning to crumble around him. His past suspicious were now coming to light. ( _Rule 1, Rule 1, Rule 1)_

And yet...something strange began to happen. Instead of the usual feelings of sadness and sorrow that usually followed such disappointments, Peter was shocked at the feelings of heat and anger that began to pool in his chest.

_"You think he's not gonna rat you out, expose you to that government douchebag?"_

He was tired of it. Tired of getting let down all the time. Tired of having the things he cared about messed up and ruined by people he wished he could trust. He was sick and tired of things always going wrong.

But this time...this time he wasn't staying quiet. This time...he was _upset,_ and everyone was going to know it. For the first time, the ones to blame would _know_ exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And he didn't care what it cost.

What the hell did he have to lose anyway?

"Peter-" Tony called, reaching out to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder. ( _Get away. Get away.)_

 _Please! You can't be_ that _naive!"_

" **NO!"** Peter roared, wrenching his arm back as his eyes blazed and his hands curled into fists. Tony reared back at the sudden shout, only to falter as the teen glared daggers at him. "I knew it! I **knew** it! I knew I couldn't trust you!" The teen snarled, fists shaking at his sides as he screamed. "I knew you'd do this! I knew you'd lie to me! That you _had_ been lying to me!"

Tony stared at the teen with wide eyes, mouth agape at the screams being thrown at him. He'd only ever seen the teen shout in such a manner once, and even then, it had been more out of desperation than true anger. But this time...this time it wasn't just anger. It was pain. _Fury._

The teen pressed his palms into his eyes. "God, I am _such_ an idiot!" He snarled. "I never should have listened to you. I **never** should have agreed to all of this in the first place!" He lifted his head back up once more, eyes blazing. "Was that your plan all along? Drag me along and get my secrets?" He let out a bitter scoff as he gestured towards himself. "Well, now you got 'em! Congratulations, Mr. Stark! What's next? Blackmail me into doing whatever you want? Or did you just want insurance for when you finally get tired of me and decide you want me gone?!"

In the back of his head, Peter knew that the things he was thinking about perhaps weren't pure truth. After all, there was a big gap between disclosing secrets between colleagues and disclosing secrets between government officials. But the teen couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious that Stark considered _his_ secret open to disclose. And that was enough to have the boy spiraling into a panic.

After all, the more people who knew, the higher the chance of something happening...of his _father..._ He couldn't even finish the thought. So he settled for anger.

"P-Peter..." The man could barely even speak, at a loss for words at the sudden turn of events.

"Shut up!" The boy snapped. "God, I can't believe it! I can't _fucking_ believe it! Just when I was finally beginning to open up to you...is that what you wanted...?" His voice wavered slightly at that. "Get me to warm up to you just to turn around at the last second? Is that what you fucking wanted?" ( _runrunrunrunrun)_

The man shook his head in disbelief. "No, kid listen I-"

"Save it. It's obvious now that I can't trust you. Not with this. Not with...not with anything." The boy stared back at him for a moment before shaking his head and glaring down at the ground. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. I guess it just means you're a pretty good actor. Had me fooled." He growled before clutching his head. " _God..._ god, god, GOD!" He shuddered. "You're gonna tell him aren't you?" His body was suddenly racked with shivers as another flash of lightning rocketed through the tower.

"Peter-"

"Y-you're gonna tell him and it's all gonna be over!"

"Peter!"

"How could you **do** this?!"

" **Peter!** Listen to me!" Tony shouted, suddenly appearing right in front of the boy as he gripped his shoulders tightly, not even caring if the boy approved or not. Peter, too distraught to even seem aware of the contact, stared up at the man with wide, fear-wracked eyes, hazel irises wavering in anguish.

"Kid..." The man panted, heart pounding from the sudden events that had unfolded. "...I didn't tell them."

Peter stared up at him, chest heaving as he fought to keep from collapsing to the floor in complete and udder exhaustion from the energy he'd expended from his screaming. And yet, he was still aware enough to hear the man's words, muscles tensing as they reached his ears. "...w-what?"

Before Tony could answer him, another crack of thunder shook from outside, Peter tensing underneath his grip. The billionaire growled at the noise before glaring up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY, deal with that damn noise."

"Yes, boss." The AI responded, quieter than usual. Peter wondered if he simply imagined it.

As the windows turned a slight tint darker, Tony turned back to the boy, staring down at the kid who suddenly looked much younger, with his cheeks and nose red from unshed tears and his curls unruly and messy as they flopped down around his eyes.

"Ah geez, kid..." The man sighed, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulders in an attempt at assurance. If anything, they just made Peter wince.

Tony dropped his hands and slowly ambled his way over towards the couch, plopping down on the seats with a loud sigh. Peter stared at him, distrust gleaming in his eyes. His heart ached painfully, but the boy resisted releasing any tears. Anger was one thing, but he _refused_ to break down into an emotionless wreck in front of the man again. Ever since that first day in the lab, the oath had hung in the back of his head.

Nevertheless, he watched as Tony rested his head in one hand as he used the other to rub the back of his neck. "It was when you first came to visit the tower. The first time they really... _met_ you." He murmured. "They figured it out for themselves."

Peter stared at him, body remaining motionless as he stood, eyes falling over the man as he sat hunched on the couch, the teen feeling his fingers twitch at his sides. "H-how'd they find out?" He had to know. Was it something he did? Something he said? Was his secret at a much greater risk of discovery than he'd first thought?

Tony blew out a small breath. "When I was first looking into you, researching Spider-Man and all that crap...I had Pepper keep tabs of all your activities, anything and everything mentioning you. I had her store them on an encrypted file database." He explained before wincing. "Which...is also where I kept the information on one Peter Parker."

Said boy felt his stomach clenching in unease at the man's words. "Pepper pieced it together from that, Rhodey from his encounters with Spider-Man in Germany." He continued. "They approached me. Told me they'd found out and..." He trailed off for a moment. "I couldn't exactly lie to them. Not when they already knew what they knew. So I told them the rest."

Peter stood still for a moment longer before taking slow, small steps over towards one of the seats adjacent to the couch, quietly sitting down as he folded his hands together and hung his head down to look at the ground. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke up, voice quiet. "Does anyone else have access to those files?" He whispered.

Tony shook his head. "Nobody."

If the teen was reassured by such a fact, he didn't show it as he ran both his hands down his face and blew out a long, tired sigh. Suddenly, the tower seemed much colder, darker, tinged in grays.

"They aren't going to tell anybody, you know."

"Yeah? H-how can you be so sure?"

"Cause I know them, kid." Tony shot back, turning to look at the boy. "Look, Pete. This...this isn't my secret to tell, alright? If you don't want people to know, then I won't tell them anything." He explained. "I promi-"

"Don't!" Peter snapped, eyes suddenly flashing. "Don't use that word. It means nothing." He growled out. Tony said nothing at that.

Peter felt his hands tighten as he continued to stare at the floor, the look turning more into a glare at the man's words. "And what about Secretary Ross?" Even though they weren't close to each other, Peter could have sworn he felt Tony tense nonetheless. "If...if he were to ask...what would you tell him?" He asked, lifting his head to stare the man dead in the eyes.

Tony held his gaze, dark brown eyes boring into light hazel. For a moment, neither said anything, once again caught in the other's gaze. Tony was the first to blink back into reality as his gaze hardened. "I'd tell him to go fuck himself."

Peter stared at the man, face never changing in its neutral look before he lowered his head down once more, eyes hidden by his curls as they fell down overtop his forehead.

Now that the windows were soundproof, there was nothing to fill the silence that quickly overtook the two, the tower settling into absolute silence as the atmosphere instantly thickened into a palpable uncomfortableness that neither knew how to remedy. It was hard to ignore the obvious problems that had plagued both of their minds for the few months they'd been in contact.

Trust.

Peter still _refused_ to grant the man any sort of faith, display that he felt any semblance of confidence in the man. If anything, the previous scene had just displayed how much he _didn't_ trust him.

And yet...it had also displayed how angry he'd become at the notion of betrayal. If Peter hadn't been planning on trusting the man at all, then his supposed "betrayal" shouldn't have evoked as much emotion as it had. And yet, the teen had been visibly upset to the point where he'd ignored all inhibitions and had simply let go, as if he _hadn't_ been expecting to feel betrayed. As if such a thing truly did shock him. Maybe...just maybe he really _did_ want to trust the man. Tony couldn't help but linger on such as fact as he glanced over at the boy.

Peter stared at the ground for a moment longer before lifting his hands to his face, a loud groan escaping his lips, muffled by his palms. "God, I...I'm so sorry." He murmured out, muscles tense.

Before Tony could even open his mouth to respond, the teen was speaking again. "It's just...this...this is all so messed up." He sighed, leaning back as he rested his head against the back of the chair, body slumping in defeat. "There's so much I wanna get over. SO much I wanna just forget and toss away, start to relax and unwind and whatever else you wanted me to do here. It's just...that's a lot easier said than done." He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The billionaire decided to remain quiet, allowing the boy to ramble his thoughts away. Maybe he'd slip up and disclose something important. God knew the kid would never tell him purposefully. So he'd just have to hope for an accident.

"I _do_ like it here, you know." Peter murmured. "The tower, t-the cool robots, the inventions, the suits, even y-your friends. All of it is just... _so_ much different from what I'm used to. You're all so...open and...trusting." He sighed wistfully. "I just...I can barely even understand it most of the time." He added with a small huff of amusement. Tony couldn't help but grimace at the meaning behind the teen's words.

"And...and I like our whole ' _intern'_ thing. I...I _like_ coming to...t-to work with you. I like...being with you. I just...I don't know. I feel...something. I-I can't really explain it. It's just...there. And I like it. I _like_ that feeling I get when I come here, when I'm with you. It makes me feel... _safe."_

The small smile that had appeared on the boy's face quickly morphed into a look of exhaustion as he leaned forward once more and rubbed his face. "God, that's what makes this so much harder."

"Makes what harder?" The billionaire finally spoke up.

" _This._ Talking to you. Being...being _around_ you. You're just like May!"

At that, Tony cocked a brow and tilted his head. "May?" he asked, wondering the the teen had meant to disclose the information. Judging from the way the teen's face didn't instantly lose all remaining color, Tony was willing to bet he had.

"May." He sighed. "She's been my neighbor for... _ever_. S-she was friends with my mom. She...she's nice." He mused with a small, warm smile that Tony noticed as genuine. Whoever this woman was, Peter obviously felt comfortable around her. "She cares about me, has cared about me for the last ten years or so. Other than you, she's...basically the only other adult I talk to on a regular basis...you know, of my own free will."

The teen stared down at his hands. "I love May. I love being with her, talking to her. She reminds me of my mom...in a good way, I mean. It's just...s-she..." He trailed off before throwing Tony an unsure look "I...don't really know how to explain it."

"You don't have to, kid." The man reassured him.

Peter nodded. "The point is...whenever I talk to May, I feel...relaxed. Calm. I'm not nervous about anything. And because of that...I talk _more._ And that's...bad."

The billionaire shook his head. "No it's not k-"

"Yes, it is." Peter shot back. "Alright? You...you don't get it, Mr. Stark. The more...comfortable I am with someone...the more likely I'm gonna say something I shouldn't. The more likely a slip-up is. And I _can't afford_ slip-ups, alright? I just can't." He stressed, resting his head in his hands once more.

"And that's what I'm afraid of here. I'm...I'm scared I'm gonna say something I'm not supposed to, something that end up causing a lot more trouble than its's worth. But..." HE sighed, shaking his head. "You're...y-you're just..."

Tony leaned forward. "Just what, kid?"

Peter stared at him for a moment before licking his lips. "You're just so easy to talk to."

"And why's that?"

The teen paused for a moment before letting a small smile crease his lips. "I don't know. I guess it's cause you seem as lost as I do."

Tony blinked at the teen, unsure as to how to respond to that. Thankfully, Peter continued, sparing him from speaking. "Well, I mean, I'm not one to really talk much to new people and...and it doesn't seem like you have much experience talking to kids a whole lot."

"Geez, thanks kid."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, shaking his head. "It's just...comforting knowing you and I are kinda the same in this. Like...like we both need just a little bit of help here and there."

Tony stared at the teen before letting a smirk fall onto his face, hoping the look would hide the silent desperation he was beginning to feel towards the teen. "Well, we could always help each other fumble through this, huh?"

Peter turned away at that. "Well, that's just the thing. It's a little... _too_ comforting." He sighed. "It's so easy to talk to you that it's also easy to share something bad. Say something wrong. The possibility of such a thing seems to skyrocket every time I'm in the same _room_ as you!"

The billionaire blew out a breath and shook his own head. "Peter, there is no... _wrong,_ alright? I've said this before, kid. You're not gonna get in trouble with me for saying what's on your mind."

"It's not _you_ I'm worried about."

At that, Tony couldn't help but clench his fists, eyes narrowing. Peter shook his head and rested his forehead into his palm once more. "Who am I kidding? You wouldn't understand this?"

The billionaire froze at that, the words sinking in as he stared at the teen across the way. The boy continued to scrunch in on himself, almost as if he believed that if he made himself as small as possible, he'd simply just disappear. Of course, the cloud of negative emotions radiating from the boy was nearly big enough to fill the entire tower.

With a final thought and a shake of his head, Tony made up his mind. He was done with this. Done with dealing with the same cloud he'd been trying to fight through for the past couple of months. Tired of having this kid tip-toe around him.

He was fixing his once and for all.

"Let me guess. Nothing you do is good enough for them."

Peter jerked his head up at that, Tony continuing. "Everything is met with some sort of criticism, some exposed flaw, some detail that you missed. Whenever you do something good, it's immediately followed with questions about what you did wrong, about what you _will_ do wrong now or in the future. And it doesn't seem like anything you could possibly do will ever live up to their expectations."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide and mouth parting as his brows furrowed slightly in mild confusion. "How...h-how do you-?"

"How do I know that?" Tony finished for him. He let out a small humorless chuckle. "Cause that's exactly what my dad would do."

The teen never let his eyes leave the man as he continued. "But you know, when I was your age I has just met Rhodey." He explained." For the longest time, I had assumed that most families were like mine. Cold, distant and unforgiving." A small smile crossed his lips. "But...when I met Rhodey, when I met his family for the first time, I realized just what I was missing."

Tony turned to look at the teen, eyes filling with an unreadable look. "Peter...you come from a family that doesn't always appreciate you, don't you?"

Peter swallowed and cast his eyes to the floor, hands wringing around themselves. That gave Tony the answer he needed. The billionaire sighed as he leaned closer. "Well, I'm here to tell you that it _does_ get better, you know. But not if you go at it alone." He stressed. "You gotta reach out to other people, kid. They aren't all gonna bite back."

The teen couldn't help but give a light scoff at that. "I've met plenty that do."

Tony gave a reluctant nod of his head. "Yeah, some of them might...but not all of them. And I can assure you, I haven't lost my bite, but I'm very particular about who gets the honor of being mauled by Tony Stark."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at that, the small bout of merriment morphing into a look of resigned sadness as the boy stared down at his hands. "Mr Stark...I...I _really really_ wanna believe you." He murmured.

"Then do it. What's stopping you?"

The teen let out a breath, eyes shifting as he tried to find the words. "I w-wanna believe you...but I...I can't trust you."

At the look of shock and slight unease passing over the billionaire's face, the teen backtracked quickly. "No, j-just...listen." He sighed, unsure as to how to explain. "It's not you. It's me. I just...and it's hard because I want to...and with all the the...I-I just..." The words continued to trip over themselves so he just stopped talking, running a hand through his hair.

He was so tired of this, of...of _all_ of this.

He glanced back over towards Mr. Stark, the man staring at him, concern and confusion etched into his dark brown eyes. He could see the hints of caring in those eyes, the hints of a man who really did just want to...help him.

But he couldn't afford to accept it. Not when there was so much he had to mask.

"Maybe this was a mistake." He murmured softly.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. "Peter-"

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Stark for making you go through all this trouble tonight." The teen suddenly began to ramble, shooting up from his seat as the billionaire quickly did the same. 'I'm so sorry for taking up your time but I really should be getting home anyways." He grinned nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck as his heart began to beat just a little faster, especially when Mr. Stark took a step closer. "Thanks again for all of this, but i really should-" He quickly jumped out of reach of the man and made to walk away back towards the elevator, only for the man's voice to stop him.

"Peter!"

The teen froze at the man's voice, though his didn't turn around to face him. Instead he simply lowered his head, fists clenching as they shook at his sides, body stiff with tension that seemed to drip from his muscles and coat the floor beneath his feet. He clenched his eyes shut, chest stuttering slightly as he tried to suck in a calming breath.

He didn't hear any footfalls on the floor, which meant Mr. Stark hadn't walked after him, which meant he still had a good chance of making it to the elevator without the man being able tot catch up to him. And yet, despite his obvious window of opportunity, the boy found himself ignoring it. Instead, it felt as though his feet were rooted to the ground, ceasing any and all movement. Before he could think better of it, his mouth was opening.

"You're not stupid, Mr. Stark." His voice was hard. "You know there are things going on that I can't tell you about. I just _can't."_

He immediately regretted the words as soon as they were out, realizing he'd just etched another crack in his mask. Whatever suspicions the man had been holding he'd all but just confirmed them right then and there. He mentally screamed at himself for his stupidity, but still found himself frozen to the spot.

All he could do was stay silent and listen for the man's response, hoping and praying that maybe he'd misheard him.

. . . . .

"Then don't"

Peter jolted at that, eyes springing open as he whirled around to stare at the man, lips parted slightly.

Tony stared at him with a look of resigned acceptance. "You don't have to tell me anything. You don't have to tell me about it. You don't have to confess to me. Hell, you don't even have to _trust_ me, kid." He sighed, dark brown eyes seeming to bore into the teen, who was still having difficulties comprehending the man's words. "But all I'm asking is that you give this a try. Just...just _try_ and let this be a place you can relax in, _try_ to find something to stay for, _try_ to be yourself. T-try to believe that _everything_ I said is true."

Peter blinked up at him, face holding a look of pure shock as he slowly but surely found his voice. "I...I-I don't have to tell you about it? Y-You're not gonna push at it?"

Tony sighed. "Not if you don't want me to." He murmured. "You don't have to think about it, you don't even have to mention his name whenever you're in this tower. You don't have to...do whatever it is you do with everybody else. You don't have to worry about slipping up and saying something I'm not supposed to hear cause I won't fault you for it. I won't pry. I won't snoop. Nothing you don't want."

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he felt fatigue wrapping around him. "I get it, kid. Believe me, I do. You don't know who to trust so you don't trust anybody. You...put up walls, barriers, _masks._ The act is what people see. Richard Parker's son. that's who greets them, avoids eye contact, hides the truth."

He stepped closer, Peter too stupefied to truly react as the man placed his hands around the teen's shoulders. "But you don't have to do that with me, kid. Cause I prom-" He stopped himself from using the word. "I _guarantee_ I'm not looking for Richard Parker's son, alright. I didn't ask to have Richard Parker's son as an intern, okay? I asked for _Peter_ _Parker._ So while Richard Parker's kid may put up an act, a front for people to see, Peter Parker doesn't have to do that. _You_ don't have to do that. Not here. Not with me."

Peter stared at him, blinking rapidly as he slowly began to digest the information being thrown at him. He lowered his gaze as his mind swirled around Tony's words. Slowly, he began to piece together what the man was saying, realizing exactly what the man had just figured out.

There were two of him.

There was Peter Parker - Richard Parker's son. He followed the rules. He obeyed without complaint. He kept his eyes down and his mouth shut and he knew just what he could and couldn't say. The things he could and couldn't reveal. He tripped over his words, he flinched around everyone. He had secrets. Secrets that _nobody_ could know. He was a mask.

Then there was Peter Parker, the boy _underneath_ the mask. He came out for Ned and MJ occasionally. He was pulled out by May before quickly being hidden away by the mask again. He wasn't afraid to complain about the rules. He went against them when the time came. He _fought_ back against them when he had to, in a mask of a completely different degree, a mask that ironically uncovered his true self, a mask that let him help people in ways Richard Parker's son never could.

Peter Parker was who he really was. Peter Parker was the person he hid away from his father, the Cons...everyone.

And yet, as he stared up at Mr. Stark's calming chocolate eyes, the teen felt a strange tug in his chest, a longing feeling that had only ever been present in the man's presence, a feeling he hadn't understood before, but truly did now.

A feeling of longing...of freedom.

Tony stared down at him, feelings of anxiety bubbling in his chest at the boy's prolonged silence. "Kid? Heh...umm...could you maybe say something? Just, like...give me a ballpark range here. How high are the chances of you jumping out that window to escape right now?"

Peter lifted his head, staying silent for a moment before letting a small smile grace his lips, the smile growing wider until it turned into a soft chuckle, which grew into a full-blown laugh.

Tony blinked down at him as he cocked a brow, still unsure as to whether or not this situation was really ' _under control'_. "Alright, I'm still confused. Are we happy or just delving into the first stages of a mental breakdown?"

The teen glanced up at him with a smile. "Probably a little of both."

"Cool. We're on the same page then."

The boy scoffed at that, before swallowing the slight lump in his throat, Tony noticing this as he leaned closer once more. "I meant what I said, Pete. No more masks. No more hiding. Just you."

"Just me." The teen echoed back in a whisper, said more to himself than to Tony. "I think...I think I can do that." He said with a soft smile.

Tony let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as he clasped the teen on the shoulder, Peter giving only small flinch at the touch. "Alright, good. That's...t-that's good. These are...these are good things." Tony rambled, as if trying to find his train of thought, which had quickly left the station.

Outside, another flash of lighting lit the sky, but it was much duller this time. Father away. A soft sound of rumbling thunder echoed through the building as FRIDAY disabled the soundproofed windows now that the storm was getting farther away. But this time, the noise didn't make Peter tense. It didn't make his heart light with panic.

This time he heard no gunshots.

A sense of silence settled over the two once more, but this time it wasn't like before. It wasn't suffocating and cold. This time it was...calm. A sense of peace flowing through the two. A feeling of...comfortableness washing over them.

And for the first time ever, Peter wasn't afraid of it.

It was a feeling he could get used to.

"You know, you never told me about yours."

Tony cocked a brow and turned towards the teen. "Never told you about what?"

"What you'd eat for breakfast with the others."

The man stared down at him for a moment before letting out a humored scoff, Peter giggling next to him. The man shrugged his shoulders and lifted a hand to gesture. "Literally, i could have eaten bricks and razor blades and it wouldn't have mattered as long as I had my coffee." He muttered, Peter snorting at that.

"You mean with the coffee machine that cuts you off?"

"We don't talk about that."

Peter laughed while Tony continued to ramble on and curse out the machine that brought him both so much pleasure and pain in the form of dark black liquid while outside, the dark storm clouds were beginning to dissipate, revealing the clear black sky above, the moonlight seeping through as it illuminated the air and seemed to expel the darkness as light reached out to brighten everything it could touch.


	14. INTERLUDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...

**Saturday - April 2, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs**

**06:32 p.m.**

Richard watched with a scowl as Peter turned and quickly dashed out of the subway car, disappearing from his sight with crumpled bills clenched in his tight fists. The man rolled his eyes with a slight huff as he slouched back down in his chair, glaring at the papers before him.

"He's _such_ a little spaz." Sandra muttered from the side as she made her way over towards the bar and pulled out a few glasses, reaching down to take out a bottle of scotch as well.

Curt let out a snort. "I think the word you're looking for is ' _idiot'_."

"He can be both." She called, pouring the amber liquid into the glasses.

"Knock it off, you two." Max called with a stern look, Richard grateful he didn't have to say it himself. Then again, there _was_ a reason Max was his right-hand man and not any of the others. He always seemed to know what Richard wanted before even _he_ did.

"He usually doesn't do that anymore."

The others - sans Flint who was still passed out drunk on the couch - turned to look at him. "What do you mean?" Max called.

Richard narrowed his eyes. "He's gotten better at keeping his mouth shut. He usually doesn't ask questions anymore." He muttered just loud enough for the others to hear. "I thought he'd gotten smarter than to blatantly ask me something as stupid as where we're going." He growled.

Max rolled his eyes. "Ch'yeah. But you seeing the kind of people he's been in the presence of recently?"

Richard lifted his head at that.

"Stark may be rubbing off on him in all the wrong ways." Sandra noted, reaching the same conclusion as her colleague.

Curt narrowed his eyes. "Plus, we have no _idea_ the kinda things they talk about in there. Maybe...we should be cautious about this."

Richard hummed in thought, only for Max to huff off to the side. "We should never have agreed to let him intern for him, Richard." He muttered. "I knew this was a bad idea from the start, letting him go off, learning who-knows-what from that asshole. I mean, come on! The longer he's there, the more he'll start to think and-"

Richard held up a hand, the dark-skinned man instantly falling silent at the gesture. When the subway car was quiet once more, he spoke. "I know what I'm doing, Maxwell." He said in a cool voice, the warning tone to back off evidenced more in the use of the man's full name. "I have Peter in there for a reason. And when the time calls for it, we'll exploit it for what we need." He stood up and pushed away from the desk, grabbing the extra glass that Sandra had pulled out.

Quickly filling the glass for her boss, the man swiveled the glass in his hand, the drink sloshing about gently "Now, I'll admit. I don't like the idea of him going around with as much free reign as he's recently been doing." He murmured. "A boy like Peter needs to understand that he has a place and that it's set in stone. I take up the mantel of reminding him of that, of showing him the good that can come by following the rules and staying in line." He explained while grabbing the other glasses, the others nodding as if it were as simple to understand as two plus two.

"However, I have taken my hands off the wheel for a change to let him...explore. Let him get a feel for the waters." He murmured, passing Curt a glass.

"And _Stark_ was the right choice to start out with?" The man called with a cocked brow.

"Stark is the _perfect_ choice for this." Richard countered. "That bumbling oaf doesn't care for anything other than himself. But Peter's so starved for attention that he'll glom onto whoever's nearby." He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, the others snickering at that. "Of course, once Stark shows the true asshole that he is, Peter will understand just who he can rely on around here. He'll learn that you really _can't_ trust anyone. All he can do...is what he's told." He grinned with a devilish glint in his eyes. "He'll learn just _who_ he belongs to.

Max stared down at the ground, arms folded over his chest. "I don't know, man. Peter's so...weak." He sneered with a disgusted look. "You're honestly telling me there's _any_ hope of salvaging him? Of, of... _making him_...one of us? Besides, we still have the issue of being in the dark about what he's doing over there at Stark's."

Richard stared hard at the man for a moment. "A plan is underway, Max." He swished the drink and passed Max a glass. "A plan is underway. As for what he's been doing, we have a solution to that too."

He glanced down at the glass. "Our...little bird will be here in a couple of months and-" It was hard to miss the groans of annoyance that drifted from the others at the comment. He ignored them and continued on. "- _and_ Peter will tell her a _lot_ more than he'll tell us. Whatever secrets he has to tell about Stark, she will be the first to know. And that's our ticket in."

Curt grunted from his place. "That girl is so...just...ugg." He muttered, unsure on how to describe the girl, just knowing he disliked her in about the same fashion as the others. "She's a little bitch, is what she is." Sandra snapped, tapping her long fingernails against the sides of the glass. "Even so I can't understand why that little shitface would talk to her."

"He has to talk to somebody." Max muttered. "So it's either her or some imaginary friend."

Richard narrowed his eyes at that, but continued on as if they hadn't spoken. "We must be patient. Peter is...strange. But he's held out for this long." He stared down into the amber liquids before him, catching the dark color of his irises in the reflection. "That boy has secrets. And I don't like that. But we must be patient. Keep all our cards hidden. And when the time is right..." He lifted a glass.

"We crush him. Snap and shatter and destroy him...and take those pieces and mold our perfect little soldier out of the dust."

The others smirked and raised their glasses before joining the man in a drink.

* * *

**Saturday - April 2, 2016**

**Somewhere in East Harlem**

**12:21 a.m.**

The distant shriek of police sirens mingled with the dull muffled murmur of TVs from the nearby apartment complexes that were still a comfortable distance away that anybody peeking from their windows would have a hard time making them out. The underpass they were currently situated near shrouded them in shadow and the entrance to the alleyway let in no aiding light considering the large van they'd parked was situated in such a way that it blocked the alleyway from the view of the sidewalk, meaning anybody passing by would see nothing but a van parked in a random alleyway and nothing else.

Which was exactly what they wanted. The less people who saw them the better.

Mark anxiously shifted from one foot to the other as he clenched and unchecked his sweaty palms against his sides. Nicky stood up against the back wall smoking a cigarette. Though it was obvious from the slight shake in his hand as he grabbed it that he was nervous as well. The two armed men who stood next to them did little to aid in their reassurances.

He glared over at Mark, throwing the cigarette down on the ground. "Would you stop moving around so much?" He snapped before crushing the bud underneath his shoe. "You're making me nervous."

"You _should_ be nervous." Mark growled back, lifting his gaze to meet his bosses. "From what you told me about these guys, they mean serious business. So how the _fuck_ are we supposed to tell them we don't have their shipment of supplies, which _by the way_ they already fucking paid for?!"

Nicky glowered at that, attempting to hide the slight grimace that involuntarily sparked at the man's words. "Look, it ain't like it's our fault alright? Those damn Avengers messed with our main point of production so...you know...of course we're a little behind. I'm sure they'll understand that."

Mark shook his head. "I don't know, man. The kind of people we got around us...they aren't known to be so understanding."

"And just _what_ _is_ it that we'll _supposedly_ be needing to understand?"

Both men jumped at the new voice that echoed down the alleyway. All four people already situated turned their heads at the voice, Mark grimacing while Nicky attempted to hold his ground as they approached.

There were five of them this time instead of the usual three from before which made the man a little nervous. Now they were outnumbered, a fact he wasn't all too pleased about.

From the builds he could make out, they were all men except for a woman that was now sauntering next to them. She was a slim figure with short black hair cut into a bob with just enough length to kiss the sides of her neck as she walked past. The mask covering her face shielded her features from their view but it did little to hide the dull purple glow emanating from where her eyes should have been.

In fact, all five figures had the same piercing glow emanating from their masks, all with different hues and undertones.

All four gang men quickly righted themselves, the guards off to the side straightening up as they tried their best to look as intimidating as possible. Though considering the newcomers also had two men that were much taller and buffer than the guards themselves, the futility of it was quickly recognized. Nicky cleared his throat before leveling the man in front a cool stare.

"Mr. Monarch, sir."

The man, apparently dubbed _Monarch_ said nothing. In fact, his eyes weren't glowing at all, revealing the dark black color of his irises against the stark white of his eyes. However, such a fact didn't stop him from nodding. "Nick." He said, his voice a steely steady thrum as he echoed back the only name the man had given him.

He gestured over towards his associates. "You already met Lizard and Sandman." He announced, gesturing towards two of the masked figures, one with glowing yellow eyes and the other dull green. "I'd like you to meet Shriek and my right-hand man, Electro."

The woman - Shriek - cocked her head to the side, a gesture made even creepier at the fact that they couldn't see her face, only the expressionless black of the mask, illuminated slightly by the pale purple glow of her irises, matched by the whitish-blue of Electro's, his dark-skinned hands curling slightly as he folded his arms over his chest, remaining silent.

"Now-" Mr. Monarch turned back to face them. "Just what is it that we'll be needing to understand?"

Nicky's face twitched but he remained silent as Mark took the lead. He cleared his throat once more, confused at the slight lump in it before speaking. "We've...had a bit of a complication."

He could see Monarch's eyes narrow behind the mask.

"Our main point of production was...attacked on Thursday and we've recently discovered that nothing was salvageable from the sight cause there were already cops swarming the place when we got wind of it."

"Do we know who the attackers were?" Electro murmured from the side, his voice thick and deep.

Mark hesitated at that before glancing over at Nicky. His employee licked his lips before stepping forward. "We have reason to believe it was the Avengers."

The mood instantly darkened in the cramped alleyway, the guards shifting at the sudden change. Monarch stared at them, dark eyes boring into their faces so intensely, Mark almost wished his eyes were glowing if only to block the stares of his black eyes. "What?" He seethed, voice shooting out like a poisonous dart with enough force to have them take a small step back.

"But-" Mark quickly jumped in, hoping to alleviate some of the tense mood. "-but...we're already ramping up production in our other major areas so while we may not have your ordered supply _tonight_ like we originally planned, we-"

"That doesn't change the fact that the Avengers somehow found out about you." Mr. Monarch cut in, voice terse and cold, his accomplices moving in another inch. "Do you even understand the repercussions this could reap? The consequences? Not just for you, but for anyone and everyone who's had a dealing with you?"

Nicky couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance and indignation at the tone the man was using with him, as if he were speaking to a child. "Yeah, we get that. It's just-"

"Just that you were too incompetent to go about this intelligently? Yes, I think I have to agree with you there." The man muttered.

Nick narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists as his teeth ground together.

"Look, man." The thug growled out, patience having worn thin. "Why don't you just calm the heck down and get off your high fucking horse. I don't see you risking _your_ neck out here every night by supplying these weapons. I don't see _you_ having to fend off the cops, detectives and Avengers to top everything off! We're putting out necks on the line to help psychopaths like you! So why don't you just keep your goddamn mouth shut and we'll get you your weapons when we get to it!"

Mark's face twisted into a look of unsure anxiety at what his boss was snarling. But the man didn't seem to be ready to stop anytime soon.

"Besides, none of my other customers are snapping at my neck for their orders. What makes it your business to interfere with our processes, anyway?"

Monarch's voice remained as neutral and cold as it had been before, despite the words now being flung towards him. "You make it my business when your actions threaten our very livelihoods."

"Yeah well...there's a lot more than just the Avengers that could threaten your livelihoods, you know." Nicky muttered more under his breath than out loud. Nevertheless, the closed-in walls of the alleyway caught every syllable.

Behind him, Monarch could feel his companions tense behind him, their postures stiffening. His eyes bore into the thug's, black and menacing. "I'd be careful of what you say." He murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Mark obviously picked up on the underlying threats laced in the man's words, but Nicky didn't seem quite so keen as he rolled his eyes. "Why's that? From where I'm standing, I have enough information on you and your little posse to have you locked up for good." He sneered. "Cops are always looking for an inside-eye, and since they're so desperate to get these weapons off the street, they'll be more than happy to allow me the position." He smirked, deeming the silence of the group as signs of victory.

"Really?" Was all Monarch replied.

"Yep. So I'd watch your step there, man." He grinned, stalking forward just a slight, sensing his power increasing over the situation. "Cause I got plenty of other customers I can rely on here. Besides, it's so easy to scrounge up a little dirt on someone when you look hard enough." He winked at the man before him. "Best not do anything to get my eyes wandering if you know what I mean."

Monarch tilted his head to the side, posture remaining calm and passive. "Is that so?" He asked, voice reflecting the relaxed nature of his body. "You know, I believe you should treat your customers with a little more respect." His voice slowly began to take on a deeper tone.

Mark took a small step back as he seemed to become aware of this. Nicky, however, remained completely oblivious.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" He scoffed with a wave of his hand. "I got the weapons here, and without me you got nothing but empty pockets and-"

His thoughts were stopped short as Monarch lifted his hand and gave a small snap of his fingers. Before anybody could so much as turn their heads towards the small noise, Lizard was charging forward almost on some silent command. Nicky didn't even have time to scream as claws were digging into his neck, ripping away the skin and muscle to reveal the bones and throbbing arteries now spraying blood all over the walls and floors of the deserted alleyway.

The two armed guards off to the side jolted to alert at the attack, but were still much too late. Shriek's hands lifted and lavender tendrils of light shot towards one of the men, wrapping around his limbs before ripping them from his torso like pulling toothpicks out of a Styrofoam cup. Meanwhile, the other guard couldn't so much as run as Electro charged up his hands and wrapped them around the man's face, his skin screeching and bubbling as the heat literally seemed to melt the flesh from the bone.

Mark screamed and backed away towards the side walls of the alleyway as Nicky fell to his knees, a choked gurgling sound emanating from him as he tried and failed to speak.

Monarch stepped closer, eyes gleaming in the dim lights of the alleyway. He said nothing as the man gave one last blood-filled gasp before collapsing to the ground, a pool of crimson liquid spreading across the alleyway from not just one, but three freshly-killed bodies.

Mark stared in horror at the sight of his boss' mangled body, only to yelp as Monarch turned towards him. "Congratulations, Mark." He murmured with a small kick at the limp body lying next to him. "Looks like you just got a promotion." The man stalked forward and gripped the man's collar with his fist, dragging him closer. "And I suggest you take this job _very_ seriously." He whispered as his eyes seemed to flash in the orange lights.

Mark couldn't even stutter out a response, not even when Monarch tossed him to the ground, the man sliding in the freshly-pooled blood. He gasped, his body shaking as he quickly rose to his feet, completely ignoring the blood now staining his clothes as he turned on his heel and bolted down the alleyway, disappearing from sight after another second.

Monarch watched him go, body tense and rigid as the others milled about behind him, inspecting the bodies they'd left.

"Well that was fun." Shriek called as she licked a drop of blood off of her finger, hair swishing around her neck as she moved from body to body, inspecting their handiwork with a gleam in her eyes.

"What'd you want us to do with these?" Sandman called with a wave towards the victims.

The man didn't turn around, instead keeping his gaze locked on the end of the alleyway. For a moment, the others wondered if he would respond at all, only to jerk as he finally spoke. "Leave them." He muttered. "Keep the cops around here as busy as they can be. Besides, nobody'll really care about a couple of common street thus getting involved in things they shouldn't have."

Electro reached towards his mask and yanked it off, face revealing his frustrations. "And what about the Avengers? You can't put it off any longer. We have to deal with them _now_."

The other shook his head. "No. Not yet at least. For now we stick with the plan. Keep everything running smoothly." He turned to face the others.

Shriek was off to the side, dancing around each of the bodies without a care in the world. Lizard was now tearing into one of the discarded limbs that his female counterpart had left for him, flesh catching in his teeth as he ate. Sandman generated enough pillars of sand to reach the nearby lampposts, destroying the lights inside to mask the alleyway in darkness as Electro raised a hand of his own, lighting their path in bluish-white light.

Monarch tapped his fingers against the side of his legs, his palms igniting slightly in orange light as his eyes did the same.

"We'll get to them soon enough."


	15. Good Day Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need to laugh and when the sun is out,   
> I've got something I can laugh about.  
> I feel good in a special way,  
> I'm in love and it's a sunny day."

_Peter couldn't help but smile from his seat on the carpet as his Mommy let out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners as she stared over at their neighbors, May and Ben._

_The former was sitting on the couch with a smile on her face while the latter was crouched down next to the TV, sorting through all the old albums his Mommy had stored up over the years. Peter knew their neighbors. Peter liked them. They were nice; funny; they gave him toys and candy whenever they came. But most of all, they made his Mommy really, really happy._

_"I mean, how many of these things can one person have?" Ben chided as he glanced through all the assorted music._

_May rolled her eyes from the couch. "Don't listen to him, Mary. This loaf has over two hundred CDs just strewn about all over the place. And they aren't even in their correct packages. I have no idea how he finds anything in there."_

_"Hey! I have my system. I don't question how you find all those spices of yours in that spice rack, now do I?"_

_Mary let out another laugh as she shook her head, playfully pushing Ben to the side as she glanced over his shoulder to browse through the CDs. Her eyes seemed to stop on one in particular as she beamed and reached down._

_The four-year-old currently stacking his Legos together watched as Mommy straightened back up, now holding a new CD in her hands, turning it this way and that as she let a smile fall onto her face. "This is my favorite album in the whole series, you know?"_

_Ben sat down on his haunches and glanced up at her with a funny expression on his face. "Seriously? 'Revolver' is your favorite album? Honey...we gotta have a serious talk about this." He joked, Mary tapping him with her foot as she rolled her eyes._

_Ignoring the man's comments, she walked over towards the CD player next to the TV and popped in the disk. "Just you wait, you two. We'll make little Pete here a fan of the 80s soon enough."_

_"The Beatles weren't from the 80s, you know."_

_"Details, details."_

_The married couple rolled their eyes with large grins on their faces as the fuzzy muffled noises from the loading machine cleared way to a bright tune. Mary stooped down and scooped Peter up in her arms, the boy shrieking in joy as his mother twirled him around as if he were her dance partner. The music bopped along merrily in his ears as he gripped his mother tightly, grin stretching from cheek to cheek as she laughed._

_Out of the corner of their eyes, they could make out Ben hauling May to her feet, the latter giving a small shout of protest before succumbing to her husband's charm, sinking into his arms as they danced around as well, joining the mother and son as the group happily twirled around the room to the instantly recognizable harmonies of the Beatles._

_"What is this, Mommy?"_

_"The best music in the world, baby. And don't you forget it."_

* * *

**Thursday - April 7, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 1**

**03:11 p.m.**

"You wanna be my _what?_ "

Ned practically bounced in his seat as he leaned closer to the confused boy. "You're _'Guy In The Chair'!"_ He beamed. "You know-"

Peter shook his head. "No, no. I...I heard you the first time. It's just... _what?"_

The larger of the two rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. You know what I'm talking about. Like in all those spy action movies where the heroes are out doing their thing, there's always some guy on the sidelines giving him all the directions and opening all the trap doors and turning all the street lights green?"

Peter stared at him, blinking slowly. "...yeah?"

"Well that could be _me!"_

Peter couldn't help but scoff and roll his eyes. "Ned, I-"

"Plus, then you'll have someone to talk to whenever you're out swinging around putting out fires and stopping floods." The boy whispered, Peter throwing him a weird look.

"Dude, I'm Spider-Man. Not...Jesus."

Ned threw him a light slap on the arm, Peter chuckling as he lightly punched his friend right back.

Over the past week, Ned had been _flooding_ him with questions and inquiries on his "extracurricular activities", begging and pleading to let him get involved with it in one way or another. Of course, Peter was _more_ than hesitant to allow the boy to do such a thing, knowing firsthand just how dangerous it was. After all, the closer he got the more threatening it was. And not just to him. To Peter as well. _(He can't know. Can't know. Can't know.)_

Still, that didn't do much to quell his friend's excitement.

And it didn't stop Peter from enjoying it as well. With all the seriousness surrounding Spider-Man and the dangers involved, it was easy to forget the sheer joy of being his spider-persona. Ned brought that joy and excitement back, the same feelings he'd felt when he'd first donned the mask and had swung around the city, free falling and whooping like a child at Disney World.

So, with that gratitude in mind, Peter couldn't help but smile back at his friend. "I'm sure we could set something up." He murmured with a chuckle, especially when Ned practically started squealing in his seat.

The other decathlon members threw them strange looks, but thought nothing of it as they went back to chatting amongst themselves, waiting for Michelle and Mr. Harrington to finish their brief discussion in the middle of their practice session.

The auditorium was all but empty save for the few tables and chairs that they usually set up for their practice meets. MJ and their sponsor teacher were near one of the back walls, having taken a break from their drills as the girl went to discuss something with the teacher while the rest of the members relaxed for a few short minutes.

Taking advantage of their brief rest along with the rest of their teammates, Ned had gone _right_ into the questions and talks about Spider-Man once again, which was what led them to their current discussion.

However, Peter's mind drifted as he glanced over towards where Michelle was talking with their teacher. The girl's messy, curl-filled hair was tied back into a ponytail as usual, a few strands falling down around her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest and continued to converse with the older man. Peter couldn't help but watch the girl as she silently and almost unnoticeably shifted her weight from foot to foot, something she usually did whenever she was annoyed or upset by something but didn't wanna say it out loud, which was rare considering the girl was always quick to voice her opinions.

Of course, before he could question why he was focusing on the girl so much, Ned was tapping him on the shoulder. The teen jerked slightly before turning to face the boy, who - if his facial expressions were any sign - had just said something.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you think you'll run into any other Avengers anytime soon." The teen repeated quietly, confused as to where the boy's mind could have gone but ignoring it nonetheless.

Peter thought about it for a moment before giving a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't really know. I mean Tony and Rhodey I see on a daily basis and that little run-in with the Falcon was kind of an accident. Plus, I don't know if the Black Widow is gonna be making those tower visits a weekly thing and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ned whispered frantically before pointing a shaky finger towards his best friend, Peter rearing back slightly with wide eyes. "Don't tell me you met Black Widow. Peter Parker, do _not_ tell me you met _the_ Black Widow!" He basically whisper-screamed.

"...uh..."

"When did this happen?"

"About...I don't know, two weeks ago?"

" _Two-! Two weeks ago?!"_ He was practically vibrating at this point. "You've had this little secret stored up for two weeks and you're just telling me about this _now?!"_

Peter shrugged his shoulders once more, a nervous smile on his face. "Well, I don't know, man. Things have been kinda...hectic for me right now. Seriously. I just...it just slipped my mind is all." He murmured.

Ned shook his head. "I am sorely disappointed in you, Mr. Parker. You gotta tell me everything now. In excruciating detail, too, just to make up for it."

Before Peter could roll his eyes and snort out a reply, their attention was drawn elsewhere. "Yo, Losers. If you're about done over there."

They jerked slightly in their seats before realizing that all of the other members had quieted down and were now glancing over at them. Lifting their heads, they noticed Michelle was back, Mr Harrington now taking his usual seat at one of the back tables, content to stay out of the way to allow the students to handle themselves. The girl in question had her hands on her hips and was looking at them with a cocked brow.

Ned gave a small smile while Peter shrunk down in his seat slightly at all the looks. "Sorry!" His friend called.

Michelle rolled her eyes but quickly dropped it, turning back to address the rest of the Decathlon members. "Alright, so Mr. Harrington and I were just talking and we've gotten word of a rumor floating around the other Decathlon teams around the county that the topics for this next meet are gonna center around Africa."

A collective number of groans drifted up from the students, Michelle narrowing her eyes. "Don't give me that. I don't care if these questions are on Africa, micro-sciences or fucking Star Wars."

"Language." Mr. Harrington's voice called out from the back, Michelle and the others promptly ignoring it as she glared at her team members. "We are _not_ losing this next meet. Got it? You're all on this team for a reason. You all excel in your individual studies. We have members for math, history, literature, sciences, robotics, the works." She explained, folding her arms over her chest. "So whichever area of testing you're in, just be sure to study up on African areas of your fields, got it?" She snapped, the others quickly giving sharp nods, none too eager to mess around with the strict girl.

Quickly falling out of her disciplinarian mode, the girl slowly melted back into her usual sassy drill mode, pulling out another round of question cards for their next session.

"Alright, so with that in mind, we'll try our hand in a few." She murmured before flipping a few of her cards around and stepping up to their makeshift podium. "In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, what luxury item was exported on a large scale from Africa by the Portuguese?"

The light tingle of a bell being rung sounded from the table over as Abe, their resident history star, chimed in. "Ivory."

Michelle gave a nod of approval before moving onto the next. "The title for Things Fall Apart comes from a poem from which writer?"

"Yeats." Sally rings in, earning another nod from Michelle.

Over the next half an hour, their questions mainly stemmed around African culture, earning most of their responses from Abe, Sally and Charlie, who were more culturally knowledgeable than Peter, Ned or Cindy, who were more mathematics, physics and science. Of course, with each randomly thrown in math equation, science calculation or statistical function, their bells were ringing just as much as their other teammates.

However, for once, Peter's bell wasn't ringing as often as their usual meets. It wasn't that he didn't know the answers. It's just that his mind seemed to be...elsewhere. This upcoming Decathlon meet was the qualifier for the regional championships coming up in a few months. Midtown almost _always_ qualified so there was a significant reputation to uphold. The number of people attending this upcoming meet would be substantially larger than usual.

Such a fact didn't really _...bother_ Peter, per say. Sure, it made him a little more anxious than usual being confined to a room with so many eyes on him, lights shining in his face. But he had gotten used to such events in his time on the Decathlon team.

With each meeting, each face-off against a new school, new opponents, the teen began to feel a little more comfortable. He got used to the bright lights, the quick questions. He even got used to the feeling of not knowing a question, learning to rely on his other teammates when he was lost.

However, with each and every new meet that came up, there was always one thing that remained the same. One thing that stood as a constant.

Usually, the first few rows of the auditoriums where their meets were held were reserved for the family members of each of the students, one name after another scrawled onto white pieces of paper before being draped over chairs, reserved and marked for proud mothers and boastful dads. Of course, when it came to Midtown's reserves, there was always one empty chair.

Richard Parker never bothered in showing up for their meets.

Sure, on occasion Sally's mom would have to work late or Ned's dad would have some holdups at the office or a family emergency would hold up Michelle's parents, but one time or another, parents always filled in those seats. One meet or the next. They were there.

But not Peter's. His seat was always empty. Always reflecting that name right back up at him as he spouted off one right answer after another.

This had led to more than one instance of teasing from Flash, the others either throwing Peter looks of sympathy or Flash looks of annoyance, but they never outright said anything. Abe had asked a few times where his parents were and Sally had volunteered her mom to loan his parents rides if transportation was the problem, but each and every time Peter just declined with a smile and a polite thank you, simply saying his dad was usually just busy and would show up if he could.

He never said anything about his mom.

They never asked. He hoped it would stay that way.

But as the absences grew less and less noticeable, Peter began to wonder if his father would _ever_ show up for a meet, or if the man even _knew_ about Decathlon at all.

( _Of course he does. He just doesn't care enough to come.)_

Still, Peter felt a strange gnawing at the idea of his father missing what could potentially be the most important meet of the season, save for the championship. And sure, he'd missed them before and Peter couldn't exactly be too sure what he'd feel if the man actually _did_ come, it didn't stop the teen from wondering if the man would ever say yes to coming and seeing him. Witnessing his son in a setting where he actually thrived, somewhere he could actually make his father proud.

Maybe he should ask him. _(Don't do that.)_

Maybe he could mention the meet and how important it was. _(He doesn't care.)_

Maybe if he knew just how important it was to Peter...maybe...if he was in a good mood...then...

Maybe he could finally prove that he could make his father proud.

_(Don't bet on it.)_

"Yo, Parker!"

Peter was jerked out of his thoughts for the second time that day by a loud voice calling out to him. Only this time, it wasn't laced with good-natured snark like Michelle's. In fact, everyone turned to look at Flash as he threw the boy a smug look, sitting up from where he'd been lounging against one of the tables, a magazine now resting on his lap.

"What's the matter? No answers today? That brain of your finally short-circuit?"

Michelle glanced over at the boy, a glare and a reprimand at the ready, only for another voice to interfere with her snap. "Yeah, you're pretty quiet today, Pete. Everything okay?" Cindy asked, long black hair swishing as she turned her head to look at him.

Peter blinked a few times just to snap himself fully back to the situation at hand, only to falter slightly as he realized that they were all staring at him now. Shifting slightly under the scrutinizing stares, the teen blew out a small breath as he gave a nervous grin and rubbed the back of his neck. "Y-yeah. Yeah...I'm fine. Just...a little out of it today, I guess."

"Well you better snap back into it soon, Parker. This meet is in a little over one week and you're my header for mathematics so get on it." Michelle chided from her seat by the podium, Peter blinking at the girl's usual snappiness with a frantic nod of his head.

The others looked ready to let it go at that, but Flash apparently had other plans. "Really, people? We can't see what's happening here?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten us." Michelle muttered as she rested an elbow on the podium surface and propped her cheek against her raised fist.

"This is just _more_ proof to what I've been telling you. Penis here couldn't tell you the different between an integer and a fraction and it's gonna cost us the match. This here is just more evidence."

He rose up from his seat and began to make his way over towards Michelle and the podium. "You all know I'm a better choice for his spot and if you don't wake up and realize it, then this match is as good as gone."

"Flash, come on-" Abe started, only for the other boy to cut him off.

"No, you know what? This moron hasn't answered one _single_ question today and I'll prove it to you." He called with a smug grin as he reached over and swiped the trivia cards out of Michelle's hands.

"Hey!" The girl snapped, Flash ignoring her as he rifled through them, obviously trying to find the most difficult one. All the while, the others turned to glance over at Peter, who was sitting as stiff as a board as he watched Flash rifle through the cards. To them, it perhaps looked to be out of nervousness, but inside, Peter was feeling nothing but a burning sense of annoyance and resentment. A new feeling of tiredness washed over him as he thought over all the times Flash had made a mockery of him, had tried to degrade him, bully him.

School was Peter's face haven, but Flash just reminded him that nowhere was really...safe. Everywhere he went, there would always be someone like Flash, like the Cons, like his father.

_(You can't escape.)_

Well he was tired of it. If this was the game Flash wanted to play, then-

He stopped himself from finishing the thought, muscles falling limp as the boy swallowed the lump in his throat, the swirling thoughts quickly dissipating with a small sigh.

No. He couldn't do it. He couldn't push it. Cause everywhere else, all it ever did was make things worse. So who was to say that it wouldn't be the same here? If Flash truly was like his father and the Cons, then who was _he_ to act any differently? Oh sure, Flash couldn't exactly _hurt_ him (physically at least) without serious repercussions, there was still a substantial power off-balance in the school, and like it or not, Flash was a _lot_ more popular than Peter. And that meant power.

And just like every other person he knew with substantial power over him, Peter did what he knew best.

_(Head down. Mouth shut.)_

He survived.

So if that meant Flash thinking what he wanted, then so be it. He knew the truth. His friends knew the truth. His teammates knew the truth. Wasn't that enough?

But then again...they didn't _really_ know the truth, now did they?

Did _he?_

_("You're a waste of space.)_

Did he even want to _know_ the truth?

Before he could really even formulate an answer, he heard a victorious shout. Flash, apparently finding a question he liked, threw Peter a cocky smirk. "Alright, Parker. If you're so smart, then answer me this. A satellite is orbiting Earth at an altitude of 250 miles. Taking into consideration the measurement of the Earth's tangent horizon line, what is the distance from the satellite to the horizon when the radius is approximately 3,959 miles?" He finished by snidely whipping the card back down to glare at the boy in front of him.

His other teammates glanced at Peter unsuredly before reaching for the pieces of scrap paper in front of them, deciding to do the problem as well just in case. Peter stared down at Flash, the teen's words slowly sinking into his mind, weaving themselves together in a jumbled mess Peter couldn't really pull apart, not when he already had so much clutter he was trying to sort through.

_(You aren't worth shit.)_

However, his troubles must have shown on his face as Flash sneered. "Seriously? You can't even set it up?" He called, noticing Peter wasn't even writing the problem down. "God, you are such an idiot, Penis. Why are you even on this team, man? You're like, completely useless."

_("You will always be nothing.")_

With those last words, Peter felt something inside of him bend. It didn't break, just shuddered. A small scratch in the glass walls holding in the torrents of black sludge always occupying his mind. It was just a tiny scratch, almost unnoticeable.

But it was enough to have his fingers curling as he glared down at the smirking boy below him. The boy that - for the first time in a long time - didn't look as intimidating as usual. His muscles weren't large and threatening. His face - while annoying - wasn't terrifying. And his eyes...weren't glowing.

Hands clenching, Peter came to realize something. Yes, Flash _was_ like his father, _was_ like the Cons. But he wasn't... _them_. So while Peter couldn't see himself slugging the teen in the face anytime soon considering the thought of _fighting_ back making a bout of nausea slink through him, he _could_ prove something right here and now.

He was worthy of his father's praise. At least here. At least at Decathlon.

"Come on, Flash. That's way out of li-" Ned began to shout, only for Peter to effectively cut him off.

"1,429 miles." He murmured, voice quiet but sharp. Everyone fell silent at that, even Mr. Harrington, who had been about to intervene once he caught sight of Flash overrunning the practice...yet again.

"And if you want that in yards, it's 2,515,040." He continued, voice cold as he retorted back. "Or maybe in feet, which would make it 7,545,120." He folded his hands together on the desk. "Wanna go for inches?"

Silence filled the auditorium, wide eyes boring into Peter's skin as the teen continued to meet Flash's stare, the latter of whom now finding himself at a loss for words. It wasn't so much the answer that Peter had given, nor the fact that he had a surplus to give considering each and every one of the members on the team could have figured out that particular problem.

No, it was the fact that Peter hadn't even needed to write anything down, hadn't needed to set it up. He just... _knew._ With only a few moments of thought he _knew_.

"Well?" Michelle asked with a knowing smirk now plastered onto her face as she glanced over at Flash. "Is he right?" She called, though she already knew the answer to her question. They all did. Even Flash.

Said boy tore his eyes away from Peter, glanced over at the other team members for a split second before turning down towards the card. The unsuredness that had washed over his face at Peter's answers quickly morphed back into detached annoyance as he tossed the card over his shoulder. "Doesn't matter. This doesn't prove anything." He snapped, though his voice betrayed his unease.

"It proves one thing." Ned laughed from his seat.

"That there's a reason _he's_ on this team." Abe called from his seat.

"And why _you're_ first alternate." Cindy smirked as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.

Peter could feel his face heating slightly at the praise his teammates were giving him, shrinking in his seat slightly and throwing them all small smiles as they beamed over at him. Flash, on the other hand, looked like a teapot ready to burst from the inside, fists curling at his sides as he glared at them. "Whatever. You'll see for yourselves next weekend. I'm right. I know I am." He sneered before stomping back to his seat.

"Ch'yeah. That ain't the only thing you are." Michelle muttered from the podium, the others snickering at that before the girl threw out another question and practice began once more, Peter now feeling no chains of hesitation as he buzzed in right alongside his teammates, Flash decidedly staying quiet for the remainder of their session.

* * *

**Thursday - April 7, 2016**

**Queens, NY - 2765 Springshore Dr.**

**03:20 p.m.**

The car screeched ever so slightly as Happy pulled up alongside the street, Tony craning his neck to glance out the back window. He stared up at the building before him and couldn't help but scrunch his face slightly in confusion.

"You sure this is the place, Tony?" Happy called from the front.

"...uh, sure."

Springshore was known for housing some of the richer, more well-off residents of Queens, numerous CEOs, entrepreneurs and other high-end rollers settling in the neighborhood which was known for its fancy townhouses and extravagant architecture.

One such example of this would be Richard Parker himself, whose house was situated just across the street from where Tony was parked. The billionaire resisted glancing behind him at the tall building, the structure - though dark and empty at the moment - still giving him a strange vibe that made his stomach curl slightly.

So it was for this reason that Tony stared at the houses on the _other_ side of the street in mild confusion, the side of the street he was currently parked on. Contrasting the lavish, top-tier houses on the other side of the road, _these_ houses were anything but. In fact, they resembled more of the commonly-found apartments and run-down tenements that littered the streets of Queens. And the house he currently found himself parked outside of was no different.

The white paint was stained and peeling, matching the weary, chipped tiles and straining slats of the roof alongside the creaking window panes. The brick steps were dark and dirty, and the wooden banister outside the door had definitely seen better days. Still, there were a few flowers planted along the grass and newly sprouting buds growing in the flower beds underneath the windows, pushing past the melting snow to reach the sun.

If he were to sum the house up in one word, Tony would probably describe it as... _quaint._ Definitely not something he'd ever stay in, but functional nonetheless.

He took another moment to simply stare at the building before opening the car door and slowly stepping out. "Stay here, Hap. This shouldn't take too long."

"I don't know, Tony. Maybe I should come with you."

"Oh, yeah. You know what? I think you're right. Lord knows how I'll manage to defend myself against the little old lady on the other side of that door. I mean, we really should have brought back-up."

The man smirked down at his driver as Happy threw him an unimpressed look before reaching over to the passenger seat and pulling up a magazine, flicking it open more harshly than needed before pointedly turning away from Tony as he began to read it.

The billionaire couldn't help the chuckle that rose out of his throat. With all that had changed in his life over the past few months, it was nice to have a few consistencies, mainly that bugging Happy _never_ got old. Like... _ever._

Currently dressed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt with a thick leather jacket overtop, Tony hoped the outfit was casual enough to not draw any unwanted attention as he walked up the steps and stopped in front of the door.

Feeling a strange sense of unease wash over him, Tony found himself hesitating as he stared at the worn-down door in front of him. His fingers twitched at his sides and he could hear his heart thumping just a little bit louder. Stealing a deep breath and shaking the ridiculous notions out of his head, the man lifted up his hand and curled his fingers into a fist, reaching out towards the wooden structure.

The door swung open before he could so much as graze it, the man rearing back slightly in surprise. The woman standing on the other side of the door was obviously just as surprised as he was, jumping in shock as a strangled gasp fell from her lips and she pressed a hand to her chest.

Taking a second to catch his breath, Tony stared back at the woman and found himself mildly surprised. She wasn't what he'd been picturing. Instead of a sweet older lady in her mid to upper sixties, this woman was on the younger side, probably only in her early thirties. She had chocolate brown hair that swept past her shoulders, clear, ivory-tanned skin and light hazel eyes that reminded the billionaire of his intern's.

She didn't look like the sweet neighborly soul. She looked... _hot._

Now, the old Tony Stark probably would have made a move on her right then and there, catching her attention with some cheesy pick-up line and waving around his money. But his affinity for women had taken a sharp decline after Pepper. There just wasn't much...motivation there anymore. Not when every woman he met couldn't hold a candle to his ex.

Besides, he was here for another matter entirely, one that took _top priority._

"May Brenner?"

The woman, having taken a second to compose herself as well, lifted her head to meet his gaze, neither of the two saying anything for a second as they simply stared at one another. The billionaire waited for the plain shock in her eyes to transform into awe, confusion or any of the other starstruck looks that people always got whenever the suddenly found themselves in his presence.

However, he was not expecting her look of surprise to morph into one of resignation and... _frustration?_

The woman straightened up, not frantically as if she were trying to correct herself for him, but slowly and with precise movements, never taking her eyes off of him as if he were some wild animal about to pounce on her the second she turned away.

Suddenly finding himself feeling even more awkward than before, Tony decided to try and initiate the conversation once more. "You...you _are_ May Brenner, right? I've got the right house?"

He waited for her to reply, only for her mouth to give no twitches of movement. Instead, she continued to stare at him, her hips cocking out slightly as she folded her arms over her chest. "I was wondering when you'd finally show up." She murmured softly, voice sharp and hard despite its quiet characteristics. Tony felt like a teenager about to be scolded by a parent or a teacher.

Safe to say, the feeling was not one he enjoyed.

"Sorry?" He asked in a confused tone, cocking a brow as he tried to play off the uneasy nerves currently prickling at his skin. It wasn't very hard to do, but the fact that he had to do it at _all_ was what bothered him.

The woman - _May_ , he'd have to presume, considering she hadn't told him otherwise - said nothing once again as she simply stepped aside and gestured for him to come inside the house. After taking a second to process the current turn of events, the man found himself walking inside of the little building. Stepping into what he could assume to be a living room of sorts, the man tried not to make it obvious as he glanced around and scoped out the area.

The living room was small, with a two-person couch pushed back against the wall and a plush recliner with a few tiny rips in the corners, small pieces of felt dribbling from the holes and onto the wooden surface below. The kitchen could be seen farther into the room and a hallway off to the side led to a few wooden steps that trailed off towards a second floor before disappearing from sight.

May gestured towards the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure it's not all that hard for you." She called as she walked over towards the kitchen. "Anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?" She asked as she opened up her fridge.

The itching call of coffee made Tony's mouth water, but deciding to just get this meeting over with as soon as possible considering the tense atmosphere that was obviously present, the man decided not to prolong their talk. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." He murmured as the woman walked back over with a glass of water for herself. She sat down on the edge of the recliner and took a sip before setting the glass on the side table next to her.

She pursed her lips and turned to face him, eyes sharp and calculating as she stared at him. Tony stared at her as well only to jolt slightly as he realized she was waiting for him to say something. Geez, what was with him?

"So, you were expecting me?" He asked, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. "You often get a lot of billionaire's showing up on your doorstep?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Too many for my tastes, if I'm being honest." She muttered.

"I can appreciate honestly. Though I think I'm safe in assuming you mean Mr. Parker across the street, right?" Tony asked, tapping his fingers together.

May didn't say anything outright. Her face remained neutral and passive. Tony had to admit, she was _good._ Over the years, he'd developed a fine eye when evaluating those around him, some people easily being read like an open book and others reserving themselves to deeper chapters and pages that he had to file through just to get to the crux of their personalities. But eventually, he'd always find it. Even if it took a second.

However, with this woman, he could honestly say he wasn't getting _anything_ from her. Nothing but a strange sense of agitation with him that even _he_ couldn't understand. As far as he knew, he'd never even met this woman before today.

Of course, lately he hadn't been the media's favorite icon so perhaps that had something to do with it.

However, before he could dwell on it anymore, May opened her mouth once more. "So, _Mr. Stark,_ to what do I owe this little visit?" She asked, though her tone of voice let on that she already knew to some degree. _How?_ Tony had no idea.

Maybe leaving Happy in the car _was_ a bad idea.

Still, this was not the time to be hesitant. Not when he'd finally found a lead on the case that was Peter Parker. Ever since their little argument on Saturday, the man hadn't been able to stop thinking of a little tidbit the teen had let him in on in the heat of the moment, mainly concerning one lifelong neighbor.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the couch. "Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about Peter Parker."

With that, the woman pursed her lips and nodded her head slowly. The cross look, however, quickly melted into a smile as she lowered her head and chuckled under her breath. "Right..." She breathed softly, fingers tapping against the glass in her hands, the sharp clicks as her nails made contact with the hard surface echoing around the small room as her body seemed to take on a new tense posture.

Tony could already feel something bad was about to happen, if it wasn't already underway.

"Tell me, _Mr. Stark,"_ The woman started, harping on his name for a moment too long for it to be casual. "Just _what_ about him would you like to know, hmm? Or more specifically, just what about him do you want me to share with you?"

It was obvious the woman was eluding to something, but Tony, perhaps just hoping to skirt by on feigned ignorance for as long as possible, chose to ignore it as he continued on. "Well...I guess whatever you can give me is good enough."

May nodded as she wet her lips. "Of course. Of course."

She set her glass down on the table before her and crossed her legs. "Well, I suppose there are a number of things I could tell you about him." She started. "I _have_ known him for quite some time. But I'm guessing you already know that." She narrowed her eyes at him and threw the man a small smile.

It only made him squirm.

"I could tell you that his favorite color is yellow of all things, or that he'll eat anything you put in front of him as long as there's a salt shaker nearby, of that he's capable of falling asleep almost _anywhere_ you put him, but..." She trailed off, voice darkening as her face hardened, eyes sharpening. "...something tells me that's not the kind of information you want to know, am I right?" She snapped.

Realizing things were worsening by the second, Tony realized he could no longer keep his mouth shut. "M'am, I-" He started, but the woman was not done. Far from it, actually.

"No. See, I think you're looking for something just a little more _specific_. Something just a little more _useful_." She hissed, uncrossing her legs as she leaned forward, the atmosphere in the room so palpable it was almost hard to breathe. Of course, that might have just been Tony.

"Tell me, are you wondering about the kinds of things he tells me? Do you wanna know what he shares with me? Do you wanna know if he's ever told me something that might just be a little too secretive to find anywhere else?"

She was out of the chair now, body tense and rigid as she stood stiff as a board, eyes boring into the man before her. "Do you wanna know if he's told me any secret passcodes that one could use to hack into the database of Parkstem? Do you wanna know if he's told me about the newest models and latest inventions his father's concocted?" She leaned closer, Tony rearing back slightly as she approached.

"Do you wanna know if he's a good enough _tool_ for you? Do you wanna know if it's a waste of your time to trouble yourself with him, or if you're actually gonna get some useful information to use against Parker out of him? Huh?! Is that what you wanna know? Is that what you wanna hear, Mr. Stark?!"

The woman quickly turned on her heel, Tony blinking in shock as she snatched the glass of water off of the table below her. The billionaire slowly and cautiously rose up to his feet as she grabbed the glass and tipped it back violently, the contents draining down her throat before she pulled it away once more, the remaining liquids sloshing around the sides as she slammed it back down onto the table.

Tony knew where this was going. He knew what she was talking about, and it made him sick. It made him just as sick as when Rhodey and Pepper had insinuated it back when he's first gotten into this mess. It made him just as sick as when he'd questioned _himself_ over why he'd agreed to mentor the boy, wondering the same things this woman was for a brief moment before dispelling the thoughts from his mind, assuring himself that such notions couldn't be farther from the truth.

However, convincing the woman before him of such a fact was going to be much harder than it had been to convince himself.

Taking a second to steel himself, Tony finally seemed to find his voice. "Mrs. Brenner, I-"

"You know...I am so _sick_ and tired of people like you." She muttered, effectively cutting him off as she didn't even bother in turning around. He could see her fingernails thrumming against her crossed arms, however, displaying her boiling emotions.

"Rich billionaire _assholes_ who think their money acts as some sort of shield, some...some sort of barrier against any and all consequences that your actions can drum up. Thinking that you can get away with _anything_ because you have the money, the power, and the pull to _do_ anything." She growled, whirling around to throw her glare straight at the man. "But you know, at least Parker _tries_ to cover it up. At least he's a good enough liar to fool those idiots out there into believing that he's some white knight, that he's the best thing to have ever happened to this city as if he's some saint that graces us all with his presence and his multi-billion dollar smile that says _'i can do no harm'!"_ She snarled, fisting her hands together as she gritted her teeth tightly.

"But _you..._ you just strut around, flashing your money, your power, your _name_ all over the place without a care in the fucking world cause you're _Tony Stark_ and your name says it all! That's all you need!"

Tony couldn't say anything as the woman stalked closer. Couldn't move as her eyes blazed with a fury that burned so pure it could only have been brewing over _years_ of time. It had been _years_ since a complete and total stranger had ever spoken to him with such conviction, such...such rage that the man couldn't do anything but freeze.

And Tony Stark didn't freeze. But these past few months had been _full_ of surprises, so what was one more?

"Well I've had it. I've had it with you people. And I've had it with _monsters_ like you and Parker thinking they can use a little boy however they want! Using him however they see fit without even giving it a second thought, without regretting their actions, without even _thinking_ about him!"

She let out a loud breathy laugh, filled with venom, with pure unadulterated rage. "No. _Fuck_ that. I've had to sit here and _watch_ that psychopath across the street do horrible things to that boy for _years_ without being able to do one goddamn thing about it because that's Richard Parker and I'm some no-name waitress down at the local diner who could definitely use the cash and publicity that would come from making such a claim, which is actually what people would think I'm doing it for. And Peter would be caught in the crossfire."

With that, she leaned forward, their noses nearly touching as she stared at him without flinching, without blinking, without a single care crossing her mind of the repercussions that might come from threatening such a high-power figure like Tony Stark.

"But if you think I'm gonna keep quiet as you come in here and do the same...then you have another thing coming, _motherfucker_. I may just be one person, but I will do whatever it takes to keep you away from that boy." Her eyes seethed as her words flew from the tongue like daggers cutting through the air. "I won't let you hurt him." With that, she roughly grabbed onto the man's wrist and jerked him towards the door.

"Now get the **fuck** out of my house."

At her touch, the man seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into as he blinked back into reality and dug his heels into the ground, whirling around to face the woman. "Now hold on a second here-"

"No! I don't wanna hear whatever lies you have to spew, you son of a bitch!" The woman snarled as she raised a hand, seemingly done with restraining herself as she took a swing at him. Tony yelped and ducked under the first, latching onto the woman's wrist.

She growled in response and aimed a kick at the man's shin. Tony buckled slightly but kept his grip tight as he twisted her arm around her back, the woman thrashing as she let out a long string of curses that would make even him real back slightly.

"Would you calm down for one frikkin second here?!"

"I'm calling the cops, you fucker!"

He could feel her nails digging into his skin as he tried to keep her subdued long enough to say what he needed. "Just _listen_ and-"

"Fuck off! Don't you **_dare_** hurt that boy!"

"I'm not trying to hurt him! I'm trying to _help_ him!"

Her struggles seemed to weaken slightly at that, but after a second of hesitation she was thrashing about once again. "Oh, shut up you little weasel! Don't pretend that you're doing him any favors! I know you're just biding your time until you get exactly what you want and-"

**"I KNOW ABOUT RICHARD!"**

May froze, her body going rigid in Tony's grasp. The man panted heavily behind her, grip tight on her wrists as he studied her movements, or lack thereof. He couldn't see her eyes considering he was facing her back, but judging from the tight coiling of her muscles, the man could tell she was struggling with some sort of internal debate.

"What about him?" She asked, voice tight and sharp, though it was obvious she was searching for a particular type of answer.

The man let out a small sign as he released the woman, May quickly whirling around to face him. Tony tensed for a brief second, wondering if she would leap onto him once more, but after a moment passed with no such attack, the man shut his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"I...I _know_ about him. About...what he does."

The woman stared back at him, unmoving and silent as his words rang clear. She swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving the man's face. "And...and just _what_ is it that you know about him?" She asked, though her voice faltered slightly.

Tony gave a small shake of his head. "Not as much as I wish I did, but...I know what he's doing to Peter. Well, at least I think I have a pretty good theory." He growled under his breath just loud enough for the woman to hear. She blinked at him, eyes suddenly filling with something other than anger. "D-did...did he tell you about it?" She whispered, her voice reaching a volume Tony hadn't even known it could reach considering all the yelling that had just taken place.

Assuming she meant Peter, the billionaire shook his head with a small scoff. "No, you kidding? When I tried to pry it out of the kid, he nearly bit my head off with denials. Though that pretty much gave me all the confirmation I needed."

May let out a small bitter laugh at that. "Yeah...I know how that feels." She sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck that Tony noticed was extremely close to what Peter did whenever he was nervous of uncomfortable. May lifted her head to stare back at the billionaire, face falling into a look of solemn confusion. "So you're _not_ trying to exploit him?" She asked softly.

Tony stared at her for a moment before letting a sigh bubble past his lips. "I think we should start from the beginning."

**. . . . . .**

A few minutes later found May walking back out of the kitchen, now wielding two glasses of a liquid that was definitely _not_ water if the amber color was any hit. But at the woman's words of " _If there was any a time to drink, I think now seems to be about right"_ , Tony raised no arguments.

She handed him a glass and sat down in the chair opposite him, a loud sigh of exhaustion falling from her lips as she leaned against the back of the chair, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face with her one free hand. "I guess everything started around twenty five years ago." She began. "My husband and I had been great friends with Mary, Peter's mother. We'd gone to college together. She'd studied geneticism while my husband has studied engineering and I had worked down in the nursing department," she started off with a small smile.

"Did you know Richard Parker too?" Tony asked, ears perked to pick up on the story that perhaps would explain the mystery that was Peter Parker.

May tilted her head from side to side. "Not as well as Mary, but...yeah. We knew each other." Her eyes grew thoughtful for a moment. "He was different back then. Nicer. Still a bit of a loner but...nice."

"So...different from the two-faced asshole he is now?"

The woman scowled and shook her head in exasperation, confirming his statement before continuing.

"Anyway, this was before he became this big-shot manufacturer. Before all of that, he was actually a lepidopterist."

"A leper-what now?"

"Lepidopterist. He studied butterflies."

Tony's scoffed in disbelief. "Seriously? That hard-ass used to flit around flower fields all day with a butterfly net in hand?"

May shrugged her shoulders. "It's true. Maybe wasn't the most _flashy_ thing on campus but it sure got Mary's attention." She muttered with a roll of her eyes. "They fell for each other our sophomore year and stuck to each other like glue after that." She sighed, a look of sorrow morphing her features before she blinked back into reality and took a sip of the scotch. "After graduation, we all went our separate ways and it just happened to be random chance that we all ended up in the same neighborhood years later. But...things had changed. _Richard_ had changed."

Tony's eyes narrowed, the similar sinking feeling he got whenever he noticed Peter trying to cover up a bruise or stutter out a choked-up response settling into his stomach. "Changed how?"

May scowled. "More like how he is today, only less...severe." She waved a hand before her as she spoke. "Apparently - and this is all from what Mary explained to me - after college, Richard moved into genetics with her. I guess her passions rubbed off on him or something," she explained. "In fact, I actually think I remember her saying something about them working for Oscorp for a time."

Tony cocked a brow. "Oscorp? _Really_? Or all the places-" He started before trailing off with a shake of his head. "Well how do you get from working within a ' _supposedly_ ' great company to starting one of your own in little less than a year's time?"

May nodded her head at the man's words, swirling the glass in her hands so that the liquid slashed against the sides. "Apparently, there was this _huge_ scandal. Something or other revolving around stolen tech and fraudulent research, but whatever it what, it got Richard fired from Oscorp and his name _slandered_ through the mud. Mary left not long after that." She narrowed her eyes. "Loyal till the end I guess." She muttered.

Tony blinked at the new information he was receiving, information he never would have even _begun_ to think about, let along search for. All he'd known about Parker was his involvement with Parkstem Labs. All the other record were either inconsequential or sealed and Tony hadn't thought anything of relevance would have been stashed in said files so he'd ignored them.

Obviously that had been a mistake.

"It wasn't long after that that Peter came into the picture."

The billionaire cocked a brow. "Doesn't really seem like the best time for a baby all things considered."

May let a small smile fall onto her face at that. "That's what I thought too, but...once you saw him...you didn't really care," she chuckled, a small gleam of happiness entering her eyes. "He was just...he was so..." She shook her head. "This was after Richard had been fired so money was pretty tight for them but...Mary made it work. I don't think Peter ever really knew about it cause of how well she hid it," she sighed wistfully.

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, dreading the answer to the question now forming on the tip of his tongue. "And...and Richard? How was he with Peter?"

May shrugged her shoulders. "I wouldn't know. He was always locked away in the basement or out trying to clear his name."

The billionaire felt his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand, stomach churning. "So you don't know if he ever..." He didn't even want to finish.

May's eyes sharpened at that, an intense fire burning within her irises. "Mary would have _never_ let him lay a hand on her son. Not while _she_ was around."

Despite the woman's harsh tone, Tony couldn't help but feel a small piece of the weight hanging in his stomach chip away at that. At least there was _some_ good news in all of this. May swigged another drink before letting out a long sigh. "A few years passed and eventually Richard discarded the genetics field altogether and began to go into manufacturing tech...I guess sort of what you did a couple years ago."

Tony furrowed his brow. "Yeah, but I have...money. Starting up your own company like that isn't something you pay for out of pocket, especially when you've just been fired from your job and have a wife and kid to look after."

"Well that's just the thing." May interjected, face twisted into a look of confusion. "Apparently Richard got some funding from an outside investor that helped him with launch."

"Outside investor?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "That's all Mary ever told me. Maybe all she knew about it."

Tony glanced away at that, eyes hard in thought as he tried to rack his brain for anybody with the money to invest so much into a risky company. The man made it a point to know people with the money and power to ever interfere with his endeavors, and he could only think of a handful that would _maybe_ try such a thing. Still...the whole thing seemed a little...off to him.

"It wasn't long after that...maybe a month or two that..." May's voice seemed to shift, taking on a much softer tone. "..t-the incident occurred." She cleared his throat before turning to look at him. "Did...did Peter-"

"He told me a little." Tony admitted. "Something about a break in."

May bit her lower lip before ducking her head away. "I was never told the details." Her voice was almost too quiet for Tony to hear, but interrupting her wasn't something he was about to do."Nobody really was. All I know is that there was an intruder in the house when Mary and Peter were home. Richard told the police he was probably after some of his newly designed models or something like that...but apparently he found Mary instead." She placed a shaky hand to her mouth. "God...if they'd found Peter..." She whispered more to herself than to Tony, who still heard nevertheless.

The woman fell silent for a moment. The billionaire bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to do as his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his leg. What he'd told Peter was still valid now: emotions _really_ weren't his strong suit. Thankfully, before the man could dwell on what his next course of action should be, May cleared her throat and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"She was taken to the hospital with two gun shot wounds to the chest and pronounced dead a little while after." She let out a small sniff. "We didn't even have time to make it over there before..."

Tony watched her clear her eyes once more before deeming it safe enough to ask a question. "How did Peter take it?"

"How you'd expect a four-year-old to take it. He didn't really understand it. All he knew was that his mother was gone and that she wasn't coming back."

"And Richard...?"

The woman took another sip from her glass. "We didn't really see much of him. We showed up to the funeral and he didn't say anything," she murmured. "People went up to him, shared their sympathies and condolences and he'd nod along, say a thanks here and there, but...something was off." She growled. "There just...there was just something... _wrong_ about it."

Her grip on the glass tightened as her face turned into a scowl. "He wouldn't even hold Peter's hand."

She blew out a breath and her face calmed. "After that, things...things didn't get better. Those _assholes_ he calls associates moved into the house a little while after that when he was finally making enough money to expand the house. We started seeing less and less of him and more and more of Peter...including some things we didn't want to see _on_ Peter."

Tony felt the weight in his stomach sink even further. "Mary was gone..."

"...so there was nobody to stop him." May finished with snarl. "Don't get me wrong. As soon as we caught wind of it, Ben and I were on it like that." She snapped her fingers, the sound nearly making Tony wince in the otherwise silent room. "But..."

The billionaire narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess. Richard has a way of shaping things exactly how he wants it?"

"People only know what he _wants_ them to know." May growled out. "Besides, he has enough friends in high places to ensure his free reign. Plus, I'm sure you've become aware of Peter's skills in...twisting the truth?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. It's just that...he seems to be a little pro at lying about...you know." He muttered. "In fact, it's almost not surprising that most people haven't taken any notice cause he's so good at keeping them off his trail. But...when he tries to do the same thing with me...it's like..."

"Like he couldn't talk his way out of a wet paper bag?"

The man raised a brow, a small smirk appearing on his face for the first time since entering the house. "I take it you've noticed too?"

May let out a small snort. "He used to be the same way with me and Ben. He'd come over at night looking absolutely miserable and just...stand there. Tongue-tied and flustered...as if he couldn't form a coherent sentence." Her face grew thoughtful. "It's almost as if...he didn't _want_ to lie to us...so he couldn't. Almost like he... _wanted_ us to know...wanted us to see the truth."

As the woman dwelled on her words, Tony couldn't help but do the same, specifically something she'd said at the beginning.

"Used to be?"

May blinked back into reality and turned to face him. "Huh?"

"You said he ' _used to'_ be the same way with you. Did something happen?"

Considering the woman had been quick to share so much the past hour, Tony was genuinely surprised when she turned her head away and remained silent. Despite the fact that he was _desperate_ for any information he could get in regards to Peter, he knew that he was asking for a lot, especially considering the kind of memories he was making the woman dredge through.

"You don't have to tell me, Mrs. Brenner. I-

"Ben happened."

The man quickly shut his mouth, watching the woman seem to have some sort of internal battle with herself before deciding to continue. "It...it was around two years ago. Peter had had a particularly rough evening at home and had come here for a little break." She started off, her voice low and slow, almost as if she didn't trust herself to be able to continue. ""Ben decided to go and take him out for ice cream to cheer him up. I...I was at work."

Her fingers curled around the glass and around the armrest of the chair she sat in, hands shaking slightly. "Along the way...along the way there was a-a man. A mugger. H-he had a gun. Ben...Ben pushed Peter behind him."

Her voice trailed off after that, more tears spilling down her cheeks as she silently brushed them back.

"I'm sorry." Tony murmured quietly, unsure as to what he could really say. He didn't think there was anything.

It took little longer than before for May to compose herself, but Tony didn't push her. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and cleared her throat before continuing, red eyes staring into the glass in her hand. "After that, something changed with Peter." She signed. "He stopped coming over here. He stopped talking to me and...whenever he did, he wouldn't have trouble lying right to my face, as if...as if I were just another stranger he had to convince.

She swallowed thickly before turning to face him. "Peter's a good boy, Mr. Stark." She murmured softly. "Maybe that's why he stopped telling me things. I don't think he wants me to get involved with this anymore. Doesn't want me to be a part of this. Might explain why he gets so frantic any time I bring up exposing his dirt-bag father." She growled, grip tightening on the glass once more.

"It's just...that _madman_ has the power to do _whatever_ he wants _whenever_ he wants without any restrictions, consequences, anything!" She growled. "He can do whatever he wants to that boy and get away with it! Peter used to be such an outgoing, energetic little angel! Now he's some...obedient tool that only ever says what his father _wants_ him to say without question, without any resistance because that **asshole** has beaten it into him and-"

Before she could say anymore, the glass in her hand shattered, the noise startling both her and Tony as the pieces littered floor beside her foot. She grunted in surprise before stooping down onto her knees, shaky hands attempting to grasp the tiny pieces as she placed them in her palm.

As her trembling hands struggled to pick up a particularly small piece, another, more calloused hand grabbed it instead. Her tear-streaked face lifted to stare into Tony's, the man holding a look of resignation.

"He's just a baby." May whispered as another tear rolled down her face and splattered down next to the glass. "He's just a...j-just a..."

She didn't say any more as the pair continued to collect the glass, brushing the shards onto the table before them. After a moment, Tony seemed to find his voice once again. "Peter...has made it very clear to me that he doesn't want me to get involved with his father's... _business."_ He explained. "Doesn't want me snooping around asking questions."

May shook her head with a sigh. "Sounds like him."

"So...I made a deal with him." Tony continued, unsure as to how the woman before him would respond to such information. "I told him he doesn't have to tell me anything about what goes on in that house and that I would never ask about it and-"

"You _what?"_ May shouted, blinking in shock as she reared back. "How can you expect to help him if you just gave him a free ticket to never talk about it?!"

The billionaire held up his hands. "I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out." He asked, waiting for May's shoulders to release some of their tension and for her face to fall neutral once more as she sat back on her haunches and motioned for him to go on. The man hesitated for a moment, contemplating what he was really going to say before letting out a long sigh and rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know what it feels like to not be able to trust anybody, to...to wonder whether anyone around you is who they say they are or if they're just using you in some way, manipulating you to get what they want." He muttered, mind reeling to decades past. May said nothing as she sat and listened.

"I know what it's like to be...afraid of _everything_ around you." He murmured, glancing down at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them back and forth. "So...I made that deal. I made it so that he won't have to be afraid around me...around the tower." He explained. "He won't have to fear spilling something he shouldn't say, something he shouldn't _do_. Maybe that way..." He paused for a moment, sucking in a breath before continuing. "Maybe that way he'll actually start taking of his own free will. If...if I can get him to do that...if I can get him to _trust_ me, then..." He lifted his head to gaze back at her. "...then I'll finally be able to help him."

May stared at him for more than a moment, bright hazel eyes boring into dark brown as she seemed to soak up the man's words, searching his face for any and all traces of lies, deceit or malice. Finally, after a moment, she rose up to her feet, Tony quickly mirroring her actions as the two stood off against each other. Licking her lips, the woman gave a small nod of her head.

"I'll do whatever I can to help."

Internally, Tony let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Though, it wasn't all that surprising to find that he'd been nervous about the woman's reaction. After all, taking in Peter's intimate relationship with her, gaining her trust would just be another step on the road to gaining Peter's, a journey that would be all the more difficult if someone the boy trusted and valued didn't hold the billionaire in a certain light.

Nodding his head, the man let a small smirk fall onto his face. "I guess the best thing you can do is... _not_ badmouth me to the kid if you can." He only half-joked.

May smiled as well, lowering her head before giving a small nod. "When Peter told me about this...about this little internship," she started, gesturing to the billionaire. "I was... _incredibly_ skeptical." She muttered before her face softened and her eyes crinkled slightly. "But...you should have seen the look on his face. It...it was a look I haven't seen there for a while." She smiled. "He actually looked...he almost looked...happy." She swallowed the small lump forming in her throat before turning to face the man seriously. "It's been nearly ten years since I've truly seen my baby happy, Mr. Stark. If you can bring that back...if you can bring _him_ back..." Her voice faltered and trailed off, eyes growing misty once more.

Tony stared back at her before giving a nod of his head. "I'll do what I can." He said, his voice more serious and determined than it had been in a long time.

And for the first time since Siberia, Tony felt something change in him, something shift and morph. The anger and sadness and pain began to crack and pulse, transforming into something else, something greater than him: determination. If he could do something good with that despair in him, if he could use it to do something other than make things worse (like he usually found himself doing), then he'd do whatever he could to make it a reality.

He wouldn't fuck this up...no matter what.

He cleared his throat and turned away, the sheer force of emotion filling the room nearly sweeping him off his feet. "I should probably get going. I have somewhere I need to be, actually."

May nodded as they began to walk back over to the front door. "Of course. You know..." She paused once they approached the entrance, Tony already halfway outside as he turned back at her call. "...you're not who I thought you were, Mr. Stark." She murmured, her lips creasing into a smile. "You're not what they say you are. I hope you know that."

His chest pulsed again and his arm gave another phantom twinge of pain as an indistinguishable feeling began to form in his stomach, but the man pushed it back before he could really acknowledge it. He smiled back at her and extended out his hand. "Call me Tony."

The woman stared at him for a moment before sliding her palm into his. "May."

Quickly separating, Tony began to descend the steps of the run-down apartment, making a mental note to bring his city renovations organization over to this side of the city to help transform such buildings. However, as he began to reach for the handle to his car door, the man turned back around. "Oh, and before I forget...is there anything else about Peter than you can think of that I might need to know? It doesn't have to be like... _life-altering,_ but...anything that might come in handy?"

May furrowed her brow in thought, pondering the question for more than a moment where Tony nearly decided to forget about it, until her face lit back up and her mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

"I might have something..."

* * *

**Thursday - April 7, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 1**

**04:13 p.m.**

"Alright guys!" Mr Harrington called from his chair, rising up as he adjusted his glasses. "That's enough for today. Great session, kids." He said with a large grin as he walked over and clapped a hand on Michelle's shoulder, the girl placing the index cards on the podium as the teacher lended a hand of aid. She took it and stepped off the podium, moving over towards the others as they walked off the stage and approached.

"Well this is just great." Charlie muttered as he threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's bad enough having to know all about the literature of _Western_ culture. Now we gotta study up on Africa, too?"

Michelle couldn't help the smirk off her face. "Apparently."

Ned shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I don't think it'll be _that_ bad." He chimed in.

"Well that's kind of easy for us to say, man." Peter said softly. "Physics and math are the same in Africa as they are here." He chuckled, the others doing the same as Abe, Sally and Charles all gave fake pouts of annoyance.

Nevertheless, the teens quickly moved off the topic as they moved over towards the back of the room, where their backpacks and stuff were all strewn about, none of them actually having had the motivation to organize them when they'd first started practice.

"Well, I don't know about you, but my parents sure are excited for this next match." Abe said with a smile, his faint accent leaking through in his words, which had all the other teens nodding their heads along with him...well, _almost_ all the teens.

"I know, right?" Cindy beamed. "My mom is so pumped for this, probably more than me, actually." She rolled her eyes. "Bringing the camera and everything. Probably gonna post it online or something."

Michelle shrugged her shoulders. "Not necessarily a bad thing. We could always use the sponsors and the more people that see us the better so..."

"Yeah, but I don't want hundreds of thousands of people watching me screw up any questions!" She protested.

Peter cocked his head to the side and raised a questioning brow. "Welp, it's a high-school decathlon match, so ' _hundreds of thousands of people'_ seems like a _bit_ of a stretch." He teased, the girl playfully swatting him in the arm.

"Nah, I feel you, Cindy. My parents haven't shut up about this stupid thing. Honestly, I think they just want more stuff to brag to their friends about." Ned mused with a smile, the others chuckling before shrugging their shoulders in agreement.

"I don't know, guys. I think it's safe to assume that we'll have at least _one_ extra chair..." Flash chimed in, the others turning to look at him as he approached, a nasty grin on his face as he stared over at Peter. "... _right_ , Parker?"

The mood instantly shifted as the boy approached, the group seeming to quiet as they all deflated to some degree. Dealing with Flash always seemed to have that effect on them. Peter glowered at the boy. "Leave me alone, Flash."

"Ah, come on, Parker. I'm just playing with you." He grinned as he walked over and placed a tight arm around Peter's shoulder, the boy flinching violently at the touch, his face contorting into a look that almost resembled pain. "It's not like it's _your_ fault your dad doesn't seem to care enough to come to these meets. Maybe he's just trying to save you the embarrassment. I mean, it's gonna be hard enough messing up in front of a crowd of people and your peers, the last thing you need is your dad witnessing it, too. IF anything, he's a pretty realistic guy." He sneered, tightening his hold on the boy. Peter grunted, resisting the urge to push Flash as hard as he could just to get those hands off him, off him, off him!

Thankfully, Ned seemed to pick up on his friend's discomfort, pushing Flash away himself. "Shut up, Flash. Stop being such an ass!"

"Yeah, man. What's your deal?" Charlie growled, face scrunching in annoyance in a similar fashion to his peers.

If Flash noticed the looks, he didn't let it on as he shrugged his shoulders. "Come on, guys. You all know it's true. Parker's old man just doesn't give a rip. Perfectly normal reaction when your kid's below average in pretty much...well, everything." He gave Peter a punch in the arm.

( _He's right. He's right. He's right.)_

Michelle's hands quickly met her hips as she pursed her lips, eyes blazing in a silent anger seen only in the slight twitching of her fingers. "At least Peter's dad would have something to watch. Your parents have to just sit there knowing their kid isn't good enough to make it on the actual team, so he has to settle for First Alternate." She smirked up at his shocked face. "I'm sure they're very proud."

The boy blinked at her for a few moments, the sounds of the other teammates giggling filling his ears, which were quickly growing red. His face, however, quickly began to match that shade as he glared at her before turning his sharp eyes towards Peter. "At least my parents care about me enough to show up." He snapped with a vicious grin, knowing he'd stuck a nerve when Peter took a small step back.

Instantly, the voices of Peter's teammates rose up in indignation, only for Mr. Harrington to walk over. "Alright, alright, calm down you guys. Save some of this energy for next week." He chuckled, obviously unaware of what their voices had been raising for.

Peter, however, didn't feel like sticking around to listen to the boy's words anymore. Twisting around on his heel, he stooped down and began collecting things into his bag.

"Peter, come on, man. Don't listen to him." Ned called, glaring over at Flash as the boy grinned victoriously. But before Peter could even open his mouth, Flash was speaking once again. "Hey, you know what? Since you keep striking out with your dad, how 'bout you try changing it up? Why don't you go ahead and ask _Tony Stark_ if he can come to the meet." He sneered with a laugh, the other teammates, besides Ned and MJ seeming to back off slightly at that.

Considering most of they were still unsure as to how the whole Stark Internship really played out, their options on defending their teammate were sorely limited.

Peter stared down at his bag, not lifting his head at Flash's words despite the boy's goading. "What's the matter, Penis. Scared your idol won't show up either? Afraid he'll think you're worthless too?"

Peter instantly shot up to his feet, throwing his backpack over his shoulder as he wordlessly began to make his way over towards the exit doors, ignoring the calls of Ned and his teammates, the only voice he could really make out being Flash's.

"Go ahead and face the facts now, Parker! A loser like you won't ever be anything! And everyone around you already knows it!"

The doors slammed shut behind him, the teen letting out a shaky breath as he clenched his backpack straps tightly, hands shaking ever so slightly. He scrunched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, blinking back the slight veil of mist now covering his irises. Flash was wrong. He knew he was. He _always_ was.

( _Not about this.)_

Peter ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and leaned back against the wall behind him, head resting against it. He'd be lying if he said Flash's words hadn't got to him. But the main point of issue was that they _had_. That jerk had been bullying him for years, and usually Peter was easily able to block them out. To ignore them and keep on moving.

But today...something about them. Something just made him squirm, made that room too suffocating to be in. And the sad thing was...Peter knew why, despite what he tried to convince himself.

Flash was right.

He was right about his father. Every word. There was no _way_ his dad would ever want to come to the meet. To him, it wasn't even a blip on his radar. Not even worth glancing at...just like him. It always seemed like the things he was good at...his father never seemed to care about. Mathematics, physics, building Lego sets, cooking...none of it seemed to click with his father. None of it was worth noticing.

No...all he seemed to notice were the things Peter _couldn't_ do. He noticed every time Peter stumbled during training. He noticed every time the boy was late coming home. He noticed every time he took _one step_ out of line.

Sometimes it made Peter wonder...if the bad stuff was the only thing his father would ever notice...then what was the point of trying the good stuff?

Why bother?

The boy sighed and pulled his backpack up onto his shoulder once more, scrubbing tiredly at his face as he pushed off the wall and began to shuffle across the lawn of the school, head down as he made towards the sidewalk.

A sudden honk by the road had the teen jumping near out of his skin. He whipped his head up and balked at the sight of a sleek car pulling up beside him. The back window slid down, revealing the smirking face of one Tony Stark.

"Feel like playing hookie?"

Peter blinked at him before cocking a brow. "School already ended...like, two hours ago."

"...Feel like doing some extra-curricular activities?"

"You mean like Decathlon? You know...the thing I _just_ finished and-"

"Just get in the car, kid."

Peter couldn't keep the grin - albeit a confused one - off his face as he walked over towards the door on the other side of the car and opened it, sliding into the seat next to Mr. Stark, the man currently scrolling on his phone with one leg resting atop the other. "Step on it, Happy." The man called to their driver, the car pulling away from the curb before Peter could rethink and go back on his decision to enter.

The teen quickly strapped on his seat belt before awkwardly glancing over at Tony. "Umm..." He murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as he threw the window next to him a sidelong glance. Tony set his phone down and looked over at the teen, unable to suppress the small smirk that grew onto his face at knowing exactly what the boy was thinking.

"Not that I'm not...happy to see you, M-Mr. Stark, cause I am! I mean, it's...it's cool and all you coming to my school...especially after hours so nobody sees me with you and- Not that I don't wanna be seen with you! It's just..." The boy seemed to bite down on his tongue as his face grew a little redder.

The billionaire gave a small roll of his eyes. Despite the growing amount of times the two had spent together, Peter still couldn't stop acting like a stuttering mess at times.

"Relax, kid. I'm not about to kidnap you or anything." The man finally said.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, only to tilt his head at the billionaire's words. "Well, I mean...you still haven't really t-told me where we're going so...I kinda think we're on the _verge_ of a kidnapping." He murmured with a cocked brow a a small hint of a smile.

Tony scoffed and rested his arm against the lip of the seats. "Trust me, kid. If I wanted to kidnap you, I'd do it in a _much_ more original way." He noted. "Something that lets you know you're _definitely_ being kidnapped by Tony Stark."

Peter couldn't help the small snicker that escaped his lips before clearing his throat, his face now noticeably brighter than when he'd first entered the car, something Tony took small pride in. "Alright, so why are you... _almost_ kidnapping me?"

Tony inwardly winced at that, realizing he hadn't really come up with a great excuse as to why he'd been near the school. He couldn't just say he'd come from the tower cause that drive _alone_ was nearly half an hour and Peter would ever believe that he'd driven all that way just to pick him up from school on a day where they weren't even meeting at the tower. Hell, _Tony_ would never believe that cause it's something he'd _never_ do.

Then there was always the option of telling Peter the truth; telling him the real reasons for him being in the neighborhood. And yet, something told him that such a conversation wouldn't go over well with either of them. After all, not even a week ago, he'd promised the kid he wouldn't go snooping into his life and he was literally only there because he'd been trying to dig up information on the kid from the only person he semi-trusted.

Yeah, so that was definitely out.

"What? I can't just drop by for a hello?" He hoped the pure confidence he was exuding would be enough to fool the boy.

Unfortunately for him, however, Peter was a pretty smart kid.

Peter furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "Something tells me Tony Stark doesn't just drop by places for a friendly hello?" The teen murmured as his body shifted slightly, Tony just barely picking up on the twitching of Peter's fingers against the leather seats as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly

The billionaire hesitated for a moment before deciding to stick to the confidence route as he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yeah, you got me there, kid. Truth be told, I was already in the neighborhood."

With that, Peter's posture shifted even more as his face fell into a shroud of distrust as he fully narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose, staring the man up and down as if the answers themselves were tattooed to his skin if he could just find them. His hands now fully curled around the edge of the seats as his muscles coiled underneath his shirt sleeve. "Uh-huh..." His voice practically dripped unease. "...And, uh... _why_ was Tony Stark in the neighborhood and not at his Tower?"

Tony turned his head and stared down at the boy, Peter seeming to shrink ever so slightly underneath the man's gaze but still holding his own as he waited for the man's answer. Knowing now was not the time to start backing down, the billionaire narrowed his eyes as well, almost seeming to challenge the teen as he answered. "Avengers stuff." He finally answered. "Secretive Avengers stuff, actually. Secretive as in _'not the type of thing you share with nosy interns'."_ He said.

Something about the man's answer seemed to flick a sort of switch in Peter, for the boy immediately lost whatever fire had begun to burn in him as his eyes glanced away towards the ground and his shoulders loosened and sagged ever so slightly. "Right..." He murmured softly, fingers continuing to softly twitch against the leather.

The man silently cursed himself for the answer, wondering if maybe he could have handled the situation better before shaking the thoughts out of his head. Since when did Tony Stark doubt himself? Maybe he really _was_ just having a bad day.

Nevertheless, there was a reason he hadn't just gone straight back to his tower after meeting with May and he planned on fulfilling such a task.

"But now that you mention it..."

Peter glanced back over to him as Tony spoke again.

"...super secretive Avengers shit can _really_ work up an appetite." Tony let out a loud melodramatic sigh before shoving Peter's shoulder, the teen jumping slightly as the sudden touch. "So you know any good places to eat around here?"

Peter stared at the man for a moment, mind reeling from the sudden shift both he and Tony had just performed within literal seconds, going from slight tension to lackadaisical joking. It was...strange to say the least, but Peter couldn't say he wasn't revealed by the shift in focus.

The teen felt a small smile form on his face as he gazed at the man before him.

"Yeah...I might know one."

* * *

**Thursday - April 7, 20**

**21 St. Queens, NY - Delmar's Deli-Grocery**

**04:32 p.m.**

"You know, Pete. When a place claims to have the ' _best sandwiches in Queens'_ you'd think they'd be able to afford tables."

Peter couldn't help but giggle as he glanced over at Mr. Stark, who was grimacing at the curb they were currently seated upon, heir legs stretched out in front of them. Tony murmured a silent thanks that he wasn't wearing one of his more expensive outfits today considering the amount of potential gum and grime they were now seated upon.

The teenager beside him, however, didn't seem all that bothered as he simply shrugged his shoulders. "It adds to the ambiance."

"Thinking it adds more to a health code violation."

Peter threw the man a crooked look. "Mr. Stark...Rhodey told me that when you were in college, you got drunk and ate a burrito you found stuck to the bottom of his car floor for three bucks."

. . . .

. . . .

"I don't care. I got three bucks. If anything, I _won_ in that scenario."

"Apparently, you also won a week's worth of food poisoning, too."

"Fucking...I'm never letting you hang out with Rhodey anymore. He's tarnishing my image in your impressionable eyes."

They _both_ were unable to suppress their laughter that time right as Mr. Delmar walked out, a bag in hand. "What's up with this, little Boss-man? You making friends with people other than me? How could you?"

Peter glanced up at him and gave a smile of his own. "Sorry, Mr. D. I'll be sure to buy extra sandwiches to make up for it."

The older man gave a fake grumble of annoyance. "Yeah, yeah." He muttered as he shoved the bag into the teen's hands. "You say that _now_. You know, I should charge you extra now that you got a billionaire for a friend."

"Seems legit." The teen said with a shrug, Delmar cracking a smile of his own as he shook his head and walked back into the store.

Tony stared at the kid and blinked while a smirk made its way onto his face. "My, my. Look at you. Seems little Peter isn't as shy as he appears." He teased as Peter handed him his sandwich.

The teen merely shrugged his shoulders. "I've known Mr. Delmar for as long as I can remember. He's practically family at this point."

"Hmm...seems like a happy guy."

"Uh, yeah...speaking of _happy..._ Are you sure Happy's alright with just sitting in the car like that?"

"Nope. I'm sure he's hating every second of it."

"Mmm...you're a good friend."

"Mm-hmm" The man mumbled as he unwrapped the sandwich Peter had given him before taking a bite. The teen beside him couldn't withhold the smirk that spread onto his face as he watched Tony's eyes grow comically wide at the first taste.

"I'm buying this restaurant."

"Wha - no. It's not even a restaurant."

"I'm buying this - what is this shit?"

"It's a bodega."

"I'm buying this goddamn bodega."

Peter laughed and gave a small shake of his head before going back to his own sandwich, taking a bite right as Tony turned towards him. "So, why were you staying so late after school today?" He asked, ignoring the fact that he already knew the answer in favor of getting the kid to speak.

"We had Decathlon practice today." The boy explained. "We have it every Tuesdays and Thursdays to prepare for the different types of meets and tournaments we have every couple of weekends."

"Decathlon. Isn't that basically the _'absorb any piece of knowledge you can and hope for the best'_ thing?"

The teen chuckled. "Basically. I mean, everyone on the team specializes in one main thing, chemistry, literature, history, all that jazz. So we don't have to know everything about everything. Just...everything for your specific specialty."

"Uh-huh. So what do you specialize in?"

Peter shrugged. "Math and physics."

Tony took another bite of his sandwich. "How many people are on this team of yours again?"

"Uh...seven, with one alternate in case one of us gets sick or anything."

The billionaire furrowed his brow. "Right, so with all those nerds-in-arms, how come I only ever hear two names leave your mouth when you talk about friends. What are they again? Ted and MJ?"

"Ned and MJ."

"Whatever. My question still stands."

Peter glanced down at his sandwich for a moment before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "I...I don't know." He murmured, voice growing much softer than it had been moments ago, almost as if he were less sure of himself. "I mean, those guys are great, don't get me wrong. They're...they're really nice and - well, _most_ of them are really nice but let's not get into that." He quickly added when he saw Mr. Stark look as if he wanted to ask about that.

"It's just...I don't know. People...people aren't really my thing."

Tony furrowed his brow. "Not making a whole lot of sense, kid."

Peter gave another hurried shrug of his shoulders, seeming to tense slightly. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's just..." He seemed to struggle to find the right words. "People are so...unpredictable."

The billionaire paused for a moment. "Alright..." He said slowly, coaxing the teen to continue.

"It's like...okay, look. You deal with numbers all the time, right?"

"Pretty crude way of describing it, but yeah. I guess you could say it like that. I prefer ' _rocking bomb-ass mathematics into super cool robot suits'_ , but whatever floats your boat."

Peter turned away once more. "Well, either way, you gotta know what I'm talking about, right? Numbers, equations...they're just so...stable. So steady. Numbers, infinite as they may be, are still so finite at the same time. So absolute. They never change. They never falter. There's never a surprise, never a shock when your dealing with formulas and patterns. Everything is laid out nice and neat. The answer's always there if you can just find it. There's always a pattern there if you can just pick it out."

Tony said nothing as Peter glanced down at the ground, eyes seeming to fill with something unreadable.

"Numbers don't lie...People do." The teen murmured softly. "Math, physics, all that is just...safer. I guess I'm just...better suited for a lab than a house party."

( _How pathetic.)_

Tony stared at him for a moment before turning away. "Sounds pretty lonely, kid." He murmured.

Peter said nothing for a second before giving another shrug of his shoulders. "Lonely's not _always_ bad."

"No...but it can get pretty exhausting. Trust me. I know." And he _did_ know, cause everything Peter had just said was exactly how he'd used to feel in college, when he was locked in his dorm room ignoring Rhodey's pleas for him to get out a socialize. He'd given the same excuse, albeit with a lot more snark and rude hand gestures while locking himself in the bathroom as his roommate threatened to break down the door if he didn't go out to Shana Murphy's party.

Peter continued to stare down at the ground, face hardening slightly as he scrunched up his nose in displeasure. "Yeah, well. Even if I _wanted_ to, most people at school would only wanna hang out cause they know my dad's got a _shit-ton_ of money and there's no _way_ I'm dealing with that so..." He glared down at a crack on the concrete. "I don't have much _choice_ now, do I?" He growled.

Tony reared back ever so slightly at the teen's harsh tone before Peter backpedaled. "Sorry...I don't mean to be rude."

The billionaire scoffed. "Kid, I don't think your definition of rude really matches up with mine." He chuckled, falling quiet when he noticed the teen's face remained passive and downcast. The man blew out a small breath, rubbing the side of his face before shrugging his shoulders, hoping his casual and laid-back posture might encourage the boy next to him to do the same.

"But, I know how you feel, Pete. Anyone at MIT who didn't hate me for my attitude was trying to suck up to me for my money. It was either one or the other. There was never any happy medium. Just two sides of a pretty fucked up coin."

Peter fiddled with the paper wrapper of the sandwich. "How'd you deal with it?"

"Same way you're dealing, I guess. Focusing more on math and science than on people. Figured it was just easier that way." The man paused for a moment. "Of course, there were also _staggering_ amounts of drugs and alcohol thrown into the mix so maybe there are some _slight_ deviations in our stories."

"I don't know, Mr. Stark. You don't know what I do behind the dumpsters during lunch."

The man threw a weak glare over at the boy currently giving him a small smirk, Tony shoving the teen lightly in the shoulder. "Ha ha, Parker. Trust me, if I ever catch whiff of you doing even _half_ of the shit _I_ used to do, you'll be scrubbing the oil off of each and every surface in my lab for _months._ And you'll need a ladder cause DUM-E gets that shit _everywhere._ "

Peter chuckled. "Okay, okay. Message received."

Tony gave a small smile before drifting back to the topic at hand. "Like I said, back then, I basically did what you're doing now. And I can admit now, it wasn't the _healthiest_ thing for me."

The boy said nothing as he let out a small sigh and glanced over at the man beside him, hazel-brown eyes flashing with so much emotion held within that Tony nearly had to look away as they fell on him, each and every flicker of gold hidden within them seeming to pierce his chest with each shift. "So...what did you do?"

Tony swallowed the small lump that had formed in his throat at the realization that Peter was asking him for advice, in his own subtle way. He _wanted_ the man's help. Even if it was for something minuscule as to how do deal with social pressures that come with school and their suffocating hallways.

Still...it was a start.

The man smiled. "Welp, I guess I took a page out of your book. The few friends I _did_ have, I stuck to like glue. Or course, your current friend group of a whopping _two_ people technically is _double_ what I had in college so I kinda can't fault you for that."

He hesitated for a moment before reaching ha hand out to place on Peter's shoulder. Expecting the slight flinch that he felt underneath his fingers, the man tried not to let it bother him too much this time. "People _are_ complicated, kid. I'll give you that. But that doesn't mean you cut them _all_ out." He murmured, feeling the thick irony of his words hitting him full force as he thought back to the bottles of liquor in his lab sitting and waiting for him.

"And yeah, it's hard branching out. So much so that I never even bothered back then. So if it seems like a bit much now, then that's fine. But you still need people you can rely on. People you can depend on. So whether that's two people or twenty people, any number is good enough. Or, how 'bout this? Any _positive_ number is good enough." He added with a wink.

Peter smiled up at him. "I get the picture." He murmured before crumpling up the piece of paper than had been in his hands. "Thanks."

Tony removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and let out a small sigh as he turned back to stare out at the street before them. "Don't mention it, little Boss-man."

The teen chuckled and shook his head, only to think back to earlier in the afternoon when he'd been fidgeting in his Decathlon seat. The teen bit his lower lip and twitched his fingers slightly as he contemplated asking what was resting on his tongue.

( _Don't do it.)_

_(Why would he care?)_

"You know..." He started before he could think better of it. "For Decathlon...t-there's...um...ther- we have a championship meet c-coming up...coming up in a week, in case...if you wanted to...go."

Tony glanced over at the teen in mild surprise, obviously not having expected the teen to fumble out an invitation. Peter's face flushed red as he fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. The billionaire gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Nerd tournament, huh? I'll see if I can squeeze it in."

Having been expecting an outright refusal, Peter's eyes lit up in surprise at the man's response before he ducked away again and hastily nodded his head.

A small ghost of a smile fell onto Peter's face, only for him to jump in shock as he saw something flash before his eyes. "Gah!" He grunted as he hunched over and rubbed his fists against the skin over his eyes, trying to blink back the dots that were flashing before him.

"What the -" Was all the man next to him had time to say before more flashes were going off in their faces, along with a growing number of voices all increasing in volume as people seemed to flood in from each and every direction.

"Goddamn it." Tony growled right as another flash made him duck his head away. He'd been hoping the casual look of his clothes and of the car they'd been driving would be enough to stall the paparazzi storm long enough for him and the kid to have a quiet time together before booking it out of the public eye, but of course, that wasn't the case.

The flood of unintelligible questions began to float around the air as the crowd of people with flashing cameras continued to grow around them. "Is this how it always is for you?!" Peter shouted over the hysteria as Tony stepped in front of him, hoping to shield the teen from the flurry of lights around them.

"Pretty much, kid!"

"This sucks!"

"Could be worse! They could be snapping pics while you vomit uncontrollably after winning a three-dollar bet! Still counting that as a victory, by the way!" He shouted back while Peter laughed into the back of the man's shirt.

A large force pushing and shoving past the mob had Tony visibly relaxing in relief as Happy smacked a camera out of one extra-pushy man's hands. Reaching the pair before him, Happy latched onto Tony's wrist while the billionaire grabbed onto Peter, the three forming some sort of human chain as they began to fight their way back to the car.

The voices around them continued to mingle and mix right up until they were nearly leaping into their car, the slamming of the doors effectively locking the screaming voices outside with their owners as the mob tried to push their cameras as close to the windows as possible. The frenzy didn't die down as they pulled out of the parking lot and sped away as fast as possible.

Peter watched through the window as the mob slowly got smaller and smaller as they drove away before sitting back up in the seat once again, glancing over at Mr. Stark, who face held a mixture of annoyance and resignation, as if he'd dealt with such scenarios for all his life.

Peter was almost sure he had been.

"Should...should I be worried about that?"

Tony glanced over to him and gave a small shake of his head. "Forget about them, Pete. They were more focused on me than you anyways." He murmured, Peter giving a small nod of his head in reassurance. He remained silent for a moment before glancing back up at the man. "Um, Mr. Stark? T-thanks for taking me out today. It...it was nice." He threw the man a small smile. "I liked it."

Tony stared at him for a moment before giving a small smile of his own and lightly punching the teen in the arm. "Yeah? I liked it too, Underoos. Nice to get away from five-star dining and enjoy a good sidewalk sandwich."

Peter chuckled at that as Tony leaned forward and knocked on the barrier currently up between them and Happy up front. After a second, the screen came down and Happy glanced at them from the mirror.

"Parker residence, Hap." The billionaire called, to which the driver gave a small nod of his head. "Oh, and play some music while your at it. What are you driving? A hearse?"

The man up front gave a large roll of his eyes before lifting up the barrier once more. After a second, a light melody began to play through the car, Peter nearly doing a double take as he heard just _what_ it was.

_"~Good Day Sunshine! Good Day Sunshine! Good Day Sunshine!~"_

_~I need to laugh and when the sun is out,~_

_~I've got something I can laugh about~_

_~I feel good in a special way~_

_~I'm in love and it's a sunny day~_

He quickly turned towards Tony, eyes gleaming. "You listen to the Beatles?"

Silently praising his own victory while also giving thanks to May and her know-how when it came to her faux-nephew, the man feigned an innocent look. "I'm more a Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath kind of guy, but I'm willing to throw on some of these nowadays."

The truth was that the man didn't like listening to music that threatened to put him to sleep. In reality, he really only liked those other bands because their music was loud, jarring and more likely to keep him up whenever he pulled his all nighters. Anything else was just too...calm.

Of course, the teen next to him didn't seem to share in his thoughts as he nearly bounced in his seat. "That's so cool! My mom used to _love_ this kind of stuff. She's put on anything and everything from the 80s and earlier. I grew up with this stuff!" He beamed.

"Hard to believe someone your age still likes this stuff. Isn't most of the music nowadays on par with setting a garbage disposal on high while dropping a box of silverware into it?"

Peter shook his head. "Music nowadays isn't _that_ bad, Mr. Stark. It's just...this stuff is special, you know? Means something...more. To me, at least." The teen said almost shyly as he ducked his head with a smile.

Tony gave a small chuckle."Guess we'll have to make you a playlist in the lab, then."

The teen's smile grew wider at that as he gave an eager nod of his head before tuning back into the song. As the car gently rolled down the busy New York streets and Peter silently bobbed his head to the melody, Tony found himself tapping along to the tune more and more. In fact, it was hard to keep a grin off of his face as the man witnessed a rare moment of genuine joy spreading across Peter's face, wishing with all his might that such a look could be a permanent fix on the teen's features.

But for now, a single fifteen-minute car ride would do, with music he had to admit...he didn't _totally_ hate.


	16. Theory of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He glanced down at the jacket before his face scrunched ever so slightly. "...I can't." It was barely more than a whisper. Though apparently, it was loud enough for May to hear and disagree with as she clicked her tongue. "It's getting no use just sitting in the bottom of a box. You know he'd hate to see it discarded like that and I can't just...throw it away." She murmured, fingers rubbing delicately across the surface. She sniffed softly before her smile reappeared, eyes slightly misty as she pushed it into Peter's hands
> 
> "He'd want you to have it, honey."

**Chapter 16: Theory of Mind**

* * *

**Saturday - April 9, 2016**

**Queens, NY - Middle Village**

**02:43 a.m.**

Peter stared up at his handiwork, watching the ex-car thief dangle from the lamppost by his feet as he swayed back and forth, the string of profanities he most likely would have loved to spew being held back by the wad of webbing currently plastered over his mouth.

"Next time, maybe control that potty mouth of yours and you can avoid that little detail." The hero called as he leapt up onto the building. "What kind of example are you setting for future car thieves?"

With that, Spider-Man shot a web at the nearest building ledge and propelled himself up, sticking to the side as he swung himself over. With a few more webs and a couple of well-placed swings, the teen was on his way, flying through the air as the wind whipped around him.

The city flared with life beneath him despite the late hour. Of course, that was to be expected. New York City wasn't really known to sleep.

The bright lights glittering around him mixed with the constant cacophony of engines, horns and the roar of late-night club crowds created a mix of stimuli that continued to remind the teen of just how exhausted he was.

He could feel the heavy pull of sleep tugging at his muscles as he swung, the realization of just how much energy it took to swing through the sky hitting him hard, a fact that usually evaded him whenever he was spending the night beating up robbers and busting potential drug deals.

His day had been a long one, what with two back-to-back tests in Chemistry and English that he was pretty sure he at least passed, which was a feat of its own considering English was about as far from his strong suit as one could get, a couple of hours with Mr. Stark, where he'd continued to mess around with the designs and blueprints that the man had given him in regards to the arc reactor project he'd taken on, and finally, a _long_ round of training with the Cons coupled with extra experiments to make up for the time he'd missed hanging around with his newfound mentor.

After such a day, Peter had been ready to call it one and collapse into his bed, rolling under the covers and shielding himself from the outside world as a five-year-old imagines their covers can do with monsters.

However, as he'd entered his room, his eyes couldn't have helped but drift to the window, his mind instantly roaming around the city, picking up every instance of trouble that could flare in his absence. Every car that'd get stolen, every purse that'd get snatched, every Ben who'd get hurt.

Safe to say, Peter had been stripping on his suit before the guilt could even manifest.

Still, after spending near three and a half hours swinging around the streets of New York, Peter could honestly say he was near his limit. As he swung onto a building that was only a few paces away from his house, Peter absentmindedly wondered whether or not Mr. Stark received updates on his suit and whenever it was active; whenever _he_ was active.

Considering the man had given away a multi-billion dollar suit to a random fourteen-year-old with spider-powers and a knack for recklessness, Peter was willing to bet a lot on the answer being ' _yes'_.

The teen briefly entertained the idea of what Mr. Stark would think about him swinging around at such late hours of the night. Or...really, early hours of the morning considering what time it currently was. The man would most likely abash on the behavior, citing some fact that teenagers needed a certain number of hours to sleep.

As he prepared to fire off a web and swing off once more, Peter wondered what he would do if Mr. Stark told him to stop crime-fighting to such hours.

Would he listen?

If anyone else told him to, he knew he would blatantly ignore them. Peter Parker wouldn't hesitate in obeying to the letter. But Spider-Man...Spider-Man was his own person. He didn't have to take orders. He didn't have to obey.

So, then...why couldn't he answer his own question?

The teen shook his head. He was too tired to entertain such confusing notions. Instead, he lifted up his arm and prepared to fire off again.

"Jesus Christ, Pete. Could you fit any more primary colours onto that suit of yours? Swear it's like you swallowed the Fourth of July and spit up the American Flag."

Spider-Man whirled around so fast he saw the world blur around him as he instantly tried to pinpoint a body to match the words. He quickly got his answer.

"Must 'ave been one 'ell of a fight between you an' Captain America in the fabric section of Michael's." Danny chimed with a smirk and click of his tongue.

The bout of shock that has seized the young hero's body quickly melted into a lopsided tilt of the head as he approached with a wary look. "Danny? Is that you?"

"In the flesh."

Peter let out a small sigh of relief as he moved forward towards the older teen. "What the heck are you doing here, man?" He asked as he gave a quick scan of the streets below for any nearby signs of life before safely removing his mask, face flush from the recent crime-fighting. "I...I haven't seen you in, like, forever."

Danny gave a shrug of his shoulders. "You know I ain't one to stay in one place for too long, cuz. But spring's not too far along so I figured I might as well move more towards the city center again." He chimed, London-born accent seeping through with each word as he stretched his arms above his head and folded them underneath his neck.

Peter tilted his head and cocked a brow. "Yeah, well it's still pretty cold out here. You really shouldn't be strolling around without a jacket on."

"Ah, bugger off, mate. Can't feel a twitch. I ain't even shiverin'."

"That's...not a good thing."

"Well if you're expectin' me to be concerned 'bout that, you're gonna be sorely disappointed, bruv."

Peter chuckled under his breath and gave a small shake of his head. "Nice to see you haven't changed, Danny."

The teen threw him a scrunched face before flicking him off, Peter rolling his eyes at the gesture.

Peter hadn't been lying when he'd said it'd been a while since the two teens had seen each other. After all, it's been nearly a year since Peter had last caught a glimpse of the homeless boy currently standing before him. Still, despite the gap, Danny still looked about the same as the last time Peter had seen him.

The sixteen-year-old was still tall and lanky, taller than Peter by a good margin, with long black hair that stretched down to the base of his neck and piercing blue eyes that could halt you in their tracks with their captivating burn. However, despite the boy's drifter status, he disguised such a fact fairly well, his clothes not giving away outright that he roamed the streets. With a minimal number of holes in the plain red t-shirt and dark black jeans he wore, Danny could just as easily pass for a normal teenage boy that neglects to listen to his parents when they tell him to do the laundry

"Welp, doesn't much look like you've changed either, mate." The older teen called as he hopped up onto the edge of the rooftop, balancing on the ledge as he glanced over towards his long-time childhood friend. "Still goin' 'bout with the ol' rooty-tooty-web-an'-shooty gig, huh?" He maneuvered his fingers to mimic Peter's whenever he fired a web.

Peter couldn't help but scoff at the wording before placing his hands on his hips. "Goin' on a little more than a year now." He nodded. "But you'd be surprised with just how much around here has changed since you were last here, D."

The older boy's eyes seemed to light up at that. "Well don't keep me beggin', you cheeky little skank. Spill."

. . . . .

The constant blaring of car horns and the deep thrumming of distant clubs grew less and less vibrant as the night weaned on, though they never ceased. The noise of the city never stopped, merely shifting in volume throughout the hours of the day and the lulls of the night.

Nevertheless, the ever-present noise served as a constant reminder that the city continued to flare with life as the time passed around the two boys, who continued to pace the rooftops of the nearby buildings.

"Hold up, cuz. You're tellin' me that you didn' bother to check your room for anybody before waltzin' inside on the bloody ceiling in full costume?!"

"What the heck did you expect me to do? I didn't know anybody was gonna be in there!"

Danny threw him a strange look before shaking his head and pressing the cigarette between his fingers against his lips. "Bloody hell, Pete. It's a wonder you've managed to keep as many secrets as you have."

Peter scrunched his nose in indignation. "Whatever. I've done pretty well so far, man. Barely anyone knows anything!"

The older boy cocked a brow in Pete's direction before he gestured to himself. Peter huffed and folded his arms as he sat down on the edge of the rooftop, legs hanging off the side. "Oh, don't give me that. You hardly count. The only reason you know anything is cause ten-year-old me didn't know how to keep secrets."

"I feel like the more pressin' concern should be that ten-year-ol' you didn' know not to talk to strangers they find on rooftops."

Peter threw him a look to which the teen shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just saying, mate. There are more concernin' issues in that statement."

The spider-teen huffed out a laugh under his breath before letting out a sigh and resting his hands on the sides of the rooftop ledge, taking a second to just relax and breathe. He hadn't taken the time to think about Daniel Willis in nearly a year, and despite the flame of guilt that burst at the idea of having forgotten one of his longest friends so quickly, Peter knew he couldn't really blame himself.

Danny didn't really run in the same circles as he did. It was sad, but Peter had to admit it was true. Just the fact that they'd ever even met in the first place was astounding. Despite the fact that it had been nearly four years ago, Peter could still distinctly remember the feel of the bricks against his fingertips as his little ten-year-old body had climbed up the side of the building right next to his room, desperate to get away from his father and the Cons for what little time he could.

The young boy had simply climbed up to the rooftop for some much-needed peace and quiet. He hadn't expected to find another boy sitting on the rooftop as well, one who was much more nonchalant in starting a conversation and before he'd known it, little Peter had been spilling his guts to a complete and total stranger about...everything. His powers, his dad, anything and everything he could.

It was the one chance he'd ever get and he couldn't waste it.

To his credit however, Danny had taken it fairly well, only responding with a slightly impressed look and a "wow".

Of course, that had been before Peter had become acquainted with the Rules, before he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. He supposed his father was lucky he'd only spilled to one random homeless kid who didn't really have the capabilities to do anything. Especially considering Peter had made him swear a million times up and down never to tell anyone.

However, after their initial meeting, Danny had stuck around Peter's neighborhood. The teen had simply shrugged it off by claiming "rich people throw out the best shit" but Peter liked to think it was cause Danny had wanted someone to talk to as much as Peter had.

Danny had explained once upon a time about how his family had moved over from London shortly before his parents had died in a car accident. Peter didn't ask him about it and Danny never asked about his mom. It was almost like a mutual agreement they shared by not sharing.

However, with Danny's high-risk lifestyle, the gaps between their visits had grown longer and longer until Peter barely ever had contact with the boy. After all, it had nearly been a year since he'd last seen him. There were times when he'd wondered if Child Services had ever caught up to him or...he didn't like to think about the other options.

The other options always seemed to become the only options when he thought too hard about them.

Still, with all that had been going on in his life over the past few months, what with the Cons, his father, the Avengers, Tony Stark...it was nice to just...catch up with an old friend. Familiar. Safe.

Danny ran a hand through his matted hair before glancing over towards the younger teen. "So, how have things been on the home front lately?"

Peter grimaced slightly as he tried to come up with an answer for a question he didn't get to share honestly all that often. "Ehh...they've been...they've been _something_ I guess. Same old, same old."

"Hmm..."

"I just..." Peter trailed off at that, letting out a disgruntled sigh as if the words were simply too hard to spit out. He scrunched his nose and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I don't know, Danny." He murmured softly, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees as his hands hung down in the air. "I'm starting to get worried. He's been sending out a lot more new recruits lately, hitting up all these tech firms."

The other teen nodded and leaned back slightly as if his suspicions had just been confirmed. "I had a feelin' that was him."

Peter turned and blinked in mild surprise at the other boy. Danny shrugged his shoulders and tossed a look towards the clouds above them. "Nah, I saw it on the headlines of a newspaper some bloke was readin' whilst I was down in the Bronx. What's he want with all that shit?"

Peter shook his head. "That's just the thing. I have no _frikkin_ idea!" He said with an air of exasperation. "He's never sent out so many people to do jobs before and-" He paused, lowering his head slightly in thought as he bit the inside of his cheek.

Danny leaned forward slightly at that. "What?"

"It's just...if he was really relying on these jobs to come back as successes. If...if he really needed the materials that he's been sending out these thugs to get for him...then he'd send out an elite task force. He wouldn't send out the rookies, the...the new recruits. He'd sent a team he knew could get the job done."

The older teen narrowed his eyes slightly and leaned back, sucking in another bout of smoke. "So what ya' thinkin'?"

Peter glanced over at him before swallowing thickly. "It's like they're...test runs or something. Trials for the new recruits to either pass or fail. If...if they pass then they move up one more ring on the hierarchy he's created with almost every single thug on the criminal undernet. And...if they fail..."

Danny grimaced and blew out a puff. "Let me guess...it's one less thug the police have gots to be worryin' about, huh?"

"Something like that. I don't ask too many questions. But I _do_ know there are plenty of new faces I see down in The Station all the time. Some I see more than once. Others...others aren't seen by _anyone_ again."

"And you said he's never done this kind of stuff before, right?"

Peter let out a sigh and placed a hand to his forehead. "Usually he targets chemical plants. Labs. Things that have the ingredients and materials he needs to experiment and adapt his serum." Peter explained, blinking as Danny let out a groan and stretched his arms, pushing himself up to his feet.

"He's still workin' on that?" The teen asked as he popped his back and made to walk along the ledge again. Peter swung himself off of the ledge and stepped back onto the rooftop floor, making way for the other teen as he balanced along the edge once more.

"He's been working on that for years, D." Peter muttered. "He's not gonna stop till he figures out what made me so ' _perfect_ ' as he says." He growled.

"Aw, that's nice."

Peter cocked his head and threw the teen a strange look.

"What? That _sorta_ counts as a compliment. At this point, you gotta take what you can get."

Peter ignored him and glared down at the ground. Danny watched him out of the corner of his eye and sighed, stopping his pace along the ledge as he turned to face the teen fully. "You still haven't told him where you actually got your powers from?"

The younger teen clenched his fists slightly as he stared at the cracks along the ground, tracing the ridges with his eyes as the words poured from his mouth, mind seemingly on overdrive as it spat out thoughts he'd been replaying over and over again for the past decade. "The longer I can keep him away from finding out the truth, the better. He can already be dangerous enough. Could you imagine what would happen if he finds out how to replicate the work that gave me my powers? Do you know how much damage he could do with an army of Spider-Mans and Captain Americas at his side?!"

"Michael's is gonna have to restock on red and blue fabrics, then."

Peter glared hard at the teen. "Danny!"

"Alright, alright..." The teen called, holding his hands up in peace as Peter let out a frustrated sigh and turned away.

"Come on, cuz! You gotta stop freakin'." The drifter called as he jumped down from the ledge and approached, flicking the cigarette bud down to the floor. "You've handled this shit all by yourself for - what? Seven...nine years? Point is...you're basically an expert in keepin' your dad in line from the shadows. Monitorin' him from the sidelines! Keepin' him reigned in." He explained, moving closer to press his hands into the sides of Peter's shoulders.

The teen reared back slightly at the touch, but Danny's grip was too tight for him to want to resist it. It was easier to just go with it. His eyes drifting along the lines of the teen's arms revealed that there were in fact no goosebumps along his skin. Peter filed it as odd but forgot about it before it could truly even register.

"You obviously know what you're doing or we would have been fucked a long time ago, mate. You've been doin' this all on your own forever now and you're pretty damn good at it, I'd say." He smirked and tossed his hands out to the sides to emphasize his point.

Peter soaked in the teen's words as the boy stepped back and turned to face the city skyline once more. He wasn't wrong, Peter had to give him that. It was true, as was the case with most things Danny stated in his long-winded rants.

Peter had been sabotaging his father from Day 1. It had started with simple things. Messing up a formula, changing a four to a three on a paper, adding a few drops of Chloride when it called for Acetamide. But as the years progressed and his father's work had grown to more dangerous levels, Peter's efforts had equally grown larger and larger up to Spider-Man.

Peter could say over and over again that Spider-Man had become who he was to help the little guy. To keep people safe on the streets that were too small for the Avengers, too overcrowded for the cops. He could say over and over again that Spider-Man had been created to help out the city. But he knew that wasn't entirely true.

Spider-Man hadn't been created to help out the city. He'd been created to _save_ it.

Spider-Man was the epitome of Peter's fullest efforts to keep his father's work from hurting people, from letting it get too out of hand.

For the longest time, Peter had resigned himself to the fact that he would be alone in his endeavors. Lord knew he couldn't go to the police for a _number_ of reasons and he hadn't really known any other people with the power or capabilities to help.

At least...not back then.

"Well..." He murmured, a slight smile gracing his lips. "...I'm not _that_ alone anymore."

Danny turned around at that, eyeing Peter's face for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips. "Right, right. Tony Stark. Forgot about him." He murmured, the surface tone of his voice light and casual. But the undertones...they had Peter turning to face him.

"What?" The younger teen called, sensing the mood shift slightly.

Danny paused for a moment, lips pulling into a thin line as he seemed to contemplate something. "How'd ya'll come by meetin' again?" He asked as he lowered his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

Peter blinked for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "He needed my help dealing with the Rogue Avengers in Germany and he'd figured out I was Spider-Man so he asked for my help."

" _'Asked'_ for it?"

"Alright, so he _might_ have...blackmailed me into it - _just_ a bit, though!"

Danny pressed his tongue against the side of his cheek as he kept his eyes glued on the pack as he tapped it against the side of his hand, a small roll falling out between his fingers. "Uh-huh, and just what is it that you do with him anyway?"

"I...I help him out in the lab with different projects and on Spider-Man and...wait, where is this going?" The teen asked as he shook his head and gave the teen a strange look.

Danny didn't answer his question, instead choosing to pose one of his own once more as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers. "And you said he just... _gave_ you the suit? Didn't say anythin' else 'bout it?"

"No - Danny what are you getting at?"

The older teen stared at him for a moment before answering. "Just how sure are you of him, Pete?"

A sinking feeling began to pool in the bottom of his stomach, one that the boy tried and failed to quell. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you given some thought as to why _Tony Stark_ suddenly took such an interest in you?"

"I told you. He needed my help and-"

"And nothing else, Peter." Danny cut him off as he tossed his hands up in exasperation, popping the bud into his mouth and pressing it into the corner with his tongue. "He needed you. Bottom line. He needed you that _one_ time and now that that's over..." He trailed off, seemingly unsure as to how to continue for a moment before he reached into his pockets and pulled out a lighter. Peter flinched at the noise of the small device flicking open and watched as the flames licked at the top of the cigarette. Danny blew out a puff of smoke before glancing at Peter with a cocked brow. "Do you really know who he is?"

The feeling continued to worsen as Danny spoke, Peter shifting from one foot to the other as he began to grip the mask in his hands a little tighter. He tried not to let the discomfort show too much on his face but judging from the look Danny was throwing him, it wasn't really working.

He really needed to practice.

"Yeah, it's b-been like...like two months since-"

No, no. Do you know who he is...like really?"

"I don't-"

"Cause from what I'm hearing..." The older boy mused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he took a small step forward. "...we aren't talkin' 'bout the same Tony Stark here. Cause the Tony Stark _I_ know has shown up in the news more times than I can count with stories that were more or less not great publicity. The Tony Stark _I_ know is kinda reckless and selfish. The Tony Stark _I_ know drowns all his problems in booze and partying. The Tony Stark _I_ and a lot of other people know, Pete...isn't a good guy." He blew a puff of smoke out from between his lips and tilted his head slightly.

Peter stared at the teen before him with wide eyes, watching as Danny pursed his lips together and shook his head. For a moment, Peter just stood there, letting the boy's words drift in and out of his mind. Words that had been repeated from the Cons after training sessions when they thought nobody was around to hear ( though secretly they hoped Peter would), from MJ and her condescending looks, from Falcon, and from May, though she tried her best to hide them.

Words that _he_ had allowed to enter his mind more times than he'd want to admit. And just like all those other times, Peter shook his head and forcefully pushed them away, drowned them out with all of the things Mr. Stark had proved to him, all that he had _done_ for him. They were wrong. They were _all_ wrong. So he said the one thing he'd told them all.

"He isn't like that." He ground out, teeth clenching together slightly as his grip on the mask tightened just a little bit more.

Danny cocked a brow. "Isn't he?"

"No, he _isn't!"_ Peter snapped, eyes flashing for just a second as his frustrations began to boil over. He was so tired of this. Of having to defend himself to the people around him. Of having to repeat over and over and over again the same defense, the same rebuttals that only _he_ could truly understand cause only _he'd_ spent time around Mr. Stark. But judging from the way Danny squared off against him, the other teen wasn't done voicing his thoughts.

"Then riddle me this, Peter." The boy scoffed. "He obviously knew about Spider-Man beforehand. He'd seen all the videos from what you say. That's probably where he found out about you. From all that crap on the internet from when you first started this, swingin' 'round saving people left and right in what could pass as a Home Ecs. project!" He sniped, Peter rolling his eyes and turning away.

"So if he knew all this, if he knew you were out there riskin' your life in doin' the right thing...then how come he only started to help you when he needed you for somthin'? How come the buddy-buddy friendship you got goin' on only bloomed when he wanted somethin' from you?"

Peter shook his head, shutting his eyes. "I-"

"Man, I see this all the time with the junkies and snitches 'round here. The cops get some fresh lead and they bring in whatever street rat they can get to spill somethin'! They don't care about them, they only contact them when they need somethin' from them."

"That's got _nothing_ to do with this!"

"Come on, Peter! How can you not see it?!" Danny shot back, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation.

"Maybe cause I don't like to assume everyone around me is scum like you do?! Maybe cause I like to give people the benefit of the doubt unlike you!" Peter shot back, eyes locking on the teen in front of him. Danny seemed to pause at that, face morphing as his expression became unreadable. For a moment, Peter wondered if maybe he'd offended the boy, but when Danny cocked his head to the side and threw the boy a perplexed look, he assumed otherwise.

"Is that what you think you're doin'?"

Peter stared at him, unsure as to what he was pawing at. He furrowed his brow and glanced away as Danny shook his head and blew out a sigh from past his lips, running a hand across the back of his neck as he trudged over to the edge of the roof once more and sat down.

"Peter..." He called, said boy hesitating for a moment before reluctantly lifting his head. "I'm not tryin' to ruin this for you, cuz."

"Really? Cause that's not what I'm getting from where I'm standing." Peter grumbled, arms folding over his chest as he threw the older teen an unimpressed look.

"Believe me, I'm not. It's a good thing that you're startin' to...to..." He trailed off for a moment before lowering his head, glancing at the cigarette before placing it back in his mouth.

"It's just...you have a knack for seein' the good in people." He murmured softly. "For...for focusin' on that tiny little spark that you can somehow find in...in _everyone_ and zeroin' in on it, as if it eliminates all the bad. As if you can somehow bring out that spark by concentratin' hard enough and putting' all your effort into it." He shook his head. "You've been doin' it ever since I met you. Hell, you've been doing it with your Dad since Day 1!"

The younger boy reared back at that, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That's not true."

"Really?!" Danny snapped, anger suddenly morphing onto his face once more as he rose to his feet, ripped the cigarette out of his mouth and glared at the teen before him. "Then tell me right now that your dad is an evil scumbag. Tell me he's the lowest of the low and that you hate his guts." He took a threatening step forward, squaring his shoulders as Peter took a reflexive step backwards. "Tell me that you wish he was dead, Peter. Huh! Go on! Tell me! Tell me you want him to suffer the same way he's made you suffer. Tell me you want to see him hang, see him fry, see him endure the same pain he's inflicted on you day after day for _years_!" He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, nearly pressing his nose against Peter's. "Tell me you want him dead! Go on, Peter! SAY IT!"

" **NO!"** The boy snarled, shoving the teen back a few steps as he shuffled backwards and wrapped his arms defensively around himself. "NO! I don't...! I...he...n-no."

Danny breathed heavily from where he stood, watching the boy before him for a moment before giving the tiniest shake of his head. "You can't, can you?" He murmured softly, Peter glaring down at the floor as he did so. "Cause even after everythin' he's done to you...after every horrible thing he's subjected you to...every ounce of torture and pain...you still _insist_ on seein' the good in him." He paused for a moment. "You still love him."

Peter traced the cracks with his eyes once more, intent on keeping his eyes away from his friend's face. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, wild and erratic despite the eerie calm he held himself in, his muscles coiled and ready to pounce at the unforeseen danger in the teen's words, the threat embedded in them. It was one thing to think such thoughts himself. It was a whole other to hear them from someone else.

"He's my dad." The same thing he'd been repeating for ten years.

Danny couldn't help but raise a brow. "Is he?"

Peter ground his teeth together and shook his head with an annoyed growl. "What does this have to do with anything?" He snapped, glaring back up at the older boy.

Said teen moved closer as he spoke. "You're blindin' yourself, Peter. You're tryin' so hard to focus on the good here, to..to ignore everythin' else and only concentrate on what you _want_ to see in people like your dad, people like Stark." He reached forward and grabbed Peter's shoulders, the boy wincing at the touch.

"Not everyone deserves that, Peter. Not everyone deserves to have you reachin' for that spark. Cause...not everyone has one." He murmured, releasing the boy as he stepped back, Peter lifting his head to stare at him. "Whether you want to admit it or not, some people...some people _have_ no good in them. Some people are just bad. You can't explain it. You can't predict it. You'll go crazy tryin' to figure out why. But...there is no why, Peter. There is no answer. No matter how hard you try..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh cigarette, extending it to the teen before him. "...you can't save everyone."

Peter stared down at the offering before tentatively grabbing it with his free hand. He could hear the words as they were being spoken, but something in him would just not allow them to sink in, would not allow them to enter. He stood there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words, only to blow a breath from his lips and glance down at the mask in his hand and then at the cigarette in the other.

The cigarette was small, only about the size of his pinkie, and it was greatly dwarfed by the mask in the other hand. And yet, despite the differences in size, the small roll seemed much heavier in his hand. He gently ran his fingertips against the paper edging, small sprinklings of black powder falling into his palm. The lenses of his mask glinted in his eyes ever so slightly, making him turn to take in the tight stitching and cleanly woven fabrics, like a comforting blanket enveloping his hand, nothing like the prickling feeling of the roll in the other palm.

He glanced between the two before slowly curling his hand into a fist, effectively crushing the cigarette into fine dust. "No...you don't know him, Danny. Mr. Stark is...he's different. He's funny and kind and smart and...he makes me feel like it's okay to be me. Like...like I don't have to be afraid anymore." He gave a small hint of a smile.

Danny didn't return in as he gave the boy a solemn look. "We should always be afraid, Peter. It's just safer that way."

The boy narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists together. "Well, maybe I don't _want_ that anymore!" God he _really_ didn't want to fight again.

Danny obviously felt the same as he threw up his hands and sighed. "Look, listen to me or don't. You're gonna do what you want. All I'm saying is...watch your back, Pete." He straightened up and looked the teen in the eyes. "And watch the company you keep."

Peter leaned back to gaze at the boy, reading his face for any signs of malice or anger. He found none.

The teen wasn't going to lie to himself. Daniel Willis wasn't what he would call a very reputable source. The teen had been back and forth on the streets for _years,_ bouncing from foster house to foster house, avoiding Social Services, and getting hits where he could. ' _Opportunist_ ' simply wasn't enough to describe him. So with those standards, taking the word of a homeless teen with any sort of seriousness would seem very far-fetched to most people.

Peter knew they were friends. They'd been friends for _years,_ but...but Peter knew Danny was far from a good guy. He stole, he lied, he cheated, and for the most part, Peter let him off for it.

He knew he couldn't really judge. Life was hard for a kid on the streets and he was sure Danny just did what he needed to survive, but...but Peter knew such experiences had to have had their effects. Led to a shift in perspectives, viewpoints.

He didn't trust Tony Stark cause he wasn't too far off from being him, a miniature version with _far_ less money, at least.

Danny was first and foremost, a con artist. He knew the game, knew how to play, and he most _definitely_ knew how to spot other con artists. It's why he could tell Peter was telling the truth about his father, who was a grade-A champion at the game. And it was most likely why he was so hesitant about Tony. He recognized all the makings of a con on him.

But...that didn't mean he was right.

That didn't mean Peter had to believe him.

Still, Peter couldn't help but take in the look of slight concern marring the boy's features. The younger teen knew such a look probably wasn't a common one on Danny's face. He knew firsthand just how difficult it was to express concern for others when your own life warrants all the concern you can get. But despite that, Danny still seemed worried. He was still concerned for him, despite his best efforts to mask the feeling with snark and disinterest. Almost like someone else he knew...

So with that, Peter couldn't help but give a small scoff as a hint of a smile crossed his face. "Does that include you?"

Danny's eyes drifted over the teen's face, obviously searching for traces of resentment. Finding none, the teen returned the smile as he shrugged his shoulders. "You should always watch out for me. Never know when I'm gonna find ya." He called with a wink as he flicked the remaining bud to the ground once more

Peter smiled and shook his head. "I'm glad your back, Danny." And he was, despite the conversation which still seemed to steam in the air over their heads.

"Yeah, well...looks like I'm just in time. Seems to me like you're gonna need all the people you can get on your side." He turned and began to walk over the edge of the roof once more, eyeing the catwalk that led down to the streets below. "I'll be around."

Peter watched as the teen bent down and wrapped his hands around the rusted metal of the steps, twisting himself around to position himself to walk down. However, as he began to lower himself down, Peter couldn't help the nagging feeling itching at the base of his neck, prickling and prickling until he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"He does love me."

Danny glanced up.

"My dad. He does."

. . . .

. . . .

"That's what you should be afraid of."

* * *

**Saturday - April 9, 2016**

**2765 Springshore Dr - Brenner Residence**

**04:23 p.m.**

"Jesus Christ, May. Do you even own a garbage can? Cause, they're like fifty cents at the Dollar Store. I can get you a nice pretty one with flowers on it and everything." Peter called as he glanced down at the box before him, turning a questioning gaze to the horde of shoes inside that seemed to fit in much better with the leftover tuna casserole and day-old spaghetti still in the kitchen garbage bag.

"Oh, it's not _that_ bad, you big baby."

Peter leaned down and plucked out a shoe with more holes than the moldy Swiss cheese in May's fridge, throwing the woman an unimpressed look.

She shrugged as she picked up one of the large brown boxes. "What can I say? I'm sentimental."

"I'd go ahead and leave out the _'senti',_ May."

She pursed her lips and gave the teen a light kick as she walked past with the box, Peter grinning as he watched her drop it off near the front door where all the other boxes of a similar make stood.

For the past two hours, boxes were all Peter had been able to see as the pair cleaned out May's apartment after months and months of the teen hounding her to do so. After the sixth time tripping over her knitting kit that hadn't been opened since being bought at a garage sale two years ago, Peter had finally worn the woman down. So for the past few hours, the two had been making quick work going through the ol' "Keep or Toss" routine, Peter having had to explain that there had to at least be a _few_ things in the _Toss_ pile, much to May's reluctance.

"When did I even _buy_ this?" May asked herself as she stared down at the cookbook in her hands. She shrugged her shoulders before tossing it into one of the _Keep_ boxes.

"Seriously? Are you even trying?"

"You never know when you'll need to learn how to cook."

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes as he wrapped a few candlesticks in bubble wrap. "So how's school going?" He asked as he placed the tightly wrapped sticks into the box before him. May dropped in some linen table liners before closing the box with a small smile. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders, to which May laughed and shook her head. "It's a lot. Juggling that and the diner are a handful but...I'm managing. And you? Your big Decathlon tournament's next Saturday, right?"

The teen ducked his head away slightly as a faint blush rose to his cheeks. "Yeah. You...don't have to come to that thing if you don't want to, May. I...I know they can be kinda...boring."

"You kidding. I wouldn't miss it for the world." The woman beamed, Peter glancing up as he threw her a grateful smile. Even if his father never showed up to those things, May always had his back, always filled a chair or at least tried her hardest to.

The teen gave a slight grimace as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I kinda...might have...invited Mr. Stark too...if that's alright."

May looked surprised for a moment before her face changed into an expression Peter couldn't really read. It almost looked like a smirk but she turned her head away before he could really tell. "Really?" She asked, though the surprise in her voice somehow seemed...false.

"Yeah...it kinda just...slipped out."

"We'll have to save a seat for him then." The woman called, still not showing her face to him as she picked up another box and moved towards the front foyer again.

Peter glanced down at his shoes, the toe scuffling against the carpet rug. "I don't know. He's...he's probably not gonna show." ( _Of course he won't, you idiot._ )

The woman paused for a moment to place the box down on the ground before blowing a breath past her lips and pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. "Well we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"

The teen threw her a weird look, but shrugged his shoulders and went to go collect another box. He glanced at the _Toss_ pile, which had gotten suspiciously smaller than the last time he'd seen it, and shook his head. "How long's it been since you cleaned stuff out around here?"

The woman scrunched her face in thought. "I guess it's been a while."

Peter stared at the horde of boxes they'd filled in the past few hours and threw her a look. "You _guess?"_

She scoffed and turned away. "Aren't teenage boy's supposed to _love_ hording stuff?" May called with a wave of her hand as she piled a few old books she'd long since given up on trying to read into one of the bigger boxes.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Aren't old ladies supposed to love tidiness?" He called with a cheeky grin, May narrowing her eyes as she tried to slap him in the shoulder with a grin, the teen ducking out of the way at the last minute. "Alright, you little punk. There's another pile of boxes in the corner. Move your little butt and bring those over. I think those are the last of the few we need to take to the storage pad."

The teen let out a small chuckle as he walked over and stooped down to pick up the box. However, as he took notice of what was inside, the teen quickly halted in his tracks and felt his mouth go dry, lips parting slightly as he felt his throat clamp shut. He could hear May shuffling around the room, but whatever she was saying quickly muted into cotton in his ears. His eyes remained glued to the contents of the box as he felt his legs lowering him down to the ground. Kneeling on the hard tile floor that desperately needed to be swept and mopped, Peter felt his hands shakily reach out into the box, fingers wrapping around the soft leather of Ben's favorite jacket.

His ears softly rang with the quiet voice of someone teaching him how to tie his shoes, someone vowing they'd be the first to teach him to drive, someone whispering kind words as he gently cleaned the scrape on his knee. Someone who wasn't there anymore; wasn't there because of him.

The room suddenly seemed too hot and too cold all at the same time as he felt chills rake his lithe body, muscles coiling slightly for a fight he could do nothing about, a fight that solely took part in his mind. A fight to keep himself together, a fight he'd been battling for two years...and one he was slowly losing.

He swallowed thickly, face contorting into an unreadable expression of restraint as his eyes remained glued to the fabric in his arms, hands seeming to vibrate with how violently they were shaking. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, the noise drowning out everything around him, even the sound of May's movements. It was fast and choking and loud. Too loud. He wanted to raise his hands to cover his ears but they wouldn't seem to obey. Instead they stayed locked onto the jacket.

"Hey, tough guy, what's the hold up over the-" May felt the words die in her throat as she caught sight of Peter sitting on his knees, dark brown jacket clutched tightly in his hands as he stared down at the worn leather.

The teen didn't hear her speak, just rubbed his fingers against the material seemingly lost in his own head. Peter barely even moved as May rested a hand on his shoulder, the kid wondering when she'd even approached. Despite the gnawing unease of having foreign hands on him, Peter couldn't really bring himself to pull away for fear that his focus might stray away from the jacket.

"I miss him too."

With her words, Peter felt himself suck in a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. It was shaky and wet and made the teen clear his throat slightly as he sniffed and ducked his head away. The dust around the room must have been more concentrated where he was, for he could feel his eyes growing red and wet.

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it with the realization that if he spoke now, there was no telling what he'd really say and he couldn't afford that uncertainty. It was best to just wait it out till he regained some form of self control. May, however, didn't seem to pick up on his raging internal battle as she reached out for him again. "Peter, please. Just...just talk to me." She pleaded, the tones of desperation in her voice making the teen want to rip his own ribcage out.

Suddenly realizing he was in irreparable danger of imploding in on himself, the teen dropped the jacket and immediately shot up to his feet. "I should go bring some of those boxes outside. Makes it easier to transfer them to your car." He gasped out, forcing a quivering smile onto his face as he turned away and moved towards the door.

"Peter-!"

"I'll be right back." It was all he could say without wavering.

He was outside before he could even register it. The boxes that had somehow found themselves in his hands were quickly dropped to his feet as he rested the back of his head against the closed door and sucked in a shaky breath, eyes stinging. Peter glanced down at his hands, the skin suddenly feeling stretched and foreign. As if his skin didn't fit his body.

He turned towards the boxes and took a breath before hoisting them back into his arms. He pushed the jacket to the back of his mind along with anything and everything connected to it. Two years was too long of a streak to break and he wasn't about to start today. He wouldn't lose _this_ fight. He couldn't.

So with that, the teen brought the boxes to the back of May's car and dropped them on the cracked concrete beside it. Resting his hand against the rusted metal exterior, the teen ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he glanced back over towards the front door of the house. He was glad the door was closed, shielding his eyes from whatever look of anguish May was most likely wearing on her face. _(Can't bear to see what you're doing to her, huh?)_

The guilt spread like a wildfire, but Peter didn't really have the energy to acknowledge the burning as he made his way back over towards the stairs. ( _Just push that to the back of your mind too, you coward)_

Praying that perhaps May had moved off to another room, Peter stilled another deep breath and readjusted the smile on his face, hoping it was realistic enough to pass as he opened the door. "How long have you had that car outs-" He started, only to grunt in mild surprise as something was suddenly shoved against his chest.

The teen blinked and glanced down, hands instantly catching the stacks upon stacks of CDs now precariously balanced in his palms, eyes warily crawling up to meet May's. Peter couldn't help but shake his head in compete surprise as he caught sight of the smile on May's face as she stared at the CDs. "Music!" She cried with seemingly too much enthusiasm to be a hundred percent real.

"What...?" Peter asked hesitantly, afraid that if he cracked her facade in anyway, it would come tumbling down.

May gave a small shake of her head as she chuckled. "Sorry. I just mean...you said Mr. Stark wanted to know what kind of music you like to listen to. And I have basically every CD Ben ever collected just sitting in my closet taking up valuable shoe space-"

"Please no more shoes, May."

She gave him a mock pout. "Whatever. Anyway, I figured now was as good a time as any for them to start getting some use." She faltered slightly as she turned away and tilted her head. "That is, if you want them of course. I mean, you don't have to take them if you don't-"

"NO!" Peter shouted, reeling back slightly as he took note of just how loud he'd been. "I mean...I'd love to take these. I'll show them to Mr. Stark."

"Yeah?" The woman asked with a small nervous smile.

Peter blinked before returning one of his own, bumping the woman with his shoulder seeing as how his hands were full. "Yeah. Thanks, May. I...I really love these."

Her smile grew at that, the woman patting him on the head as she turned away once more, kneeling down over a couple more boxes. Peter turned to the couch next to him and dropped the load onto the cushions, taking note of just how many CDs there actually were. And considering CDs weren't even _used_ all that much anymore, there were quite a few.

"You must have like...every CD ever _made_ here."

"What can I say? Ben was pretty sentimental, too. And I think we can keep the ' _senti'_ in that." She called with a smirk.

Peter couldn't help but give a small chuckle at that as he rummaged through the pile, glancing at covers and song lists. "Yeah. You do have enough _'mental'_ for a small group." He laughed, only to pause as he noticed the woman approaching once more. "If it's more CDs, then I think you can keep them. I have plenty here." He said as he turned around, expecting to find more CDs in the woman's arms.

He faltered slightly as he took in the sight of the jacket once more, now resting gently in the woman's arms instead of his own. He swallowed and felt his chest tighten ever so slightly, but was able to keep a level stare this time. Apparently the same went for May as she stared him in the eyes, a small smile on her face. "This was his favorite jacket, you know."

He knew. "Yeah...I know."

The woman stared down at it for a moment, seemingly lost in thought for a second as she stroked her hand over the worn leather. Peter blinked in silence as he wondered whether or not the woman was waiting for him to say anything. However, May quickly lifted her head to look at him once more. "You should have it."

The teen stole a small breath, opening his mouth before closing it again after realizing he didn't know how to respond to that. He glanced down at the jacket before his face scrunched ever so slightly. "...I can't." It was barely more than a whisper. Though apparently, it was loud enough for May to hear and disagree with as she clicked her tongue. "It's getting no use just sitting in the bottom of a box. You know he'd hate to see it discarded like that and I can't just...throw it away." She murmured, fingers rubbing delicately across the surface. She sniffed softly before her smile reappeared, eyes slightly misty as she pushed it into Peter's hands

"He'd want you to have it, honey."

She let go of the jacket before Peter could refuse her again, the teen stuck with the cloth in his hands as he stared down at it. He knew he should give it back to her again, say it didn't belong to him because it didn't. He knew who it belonged to and so did she. And...Peter wasn't him. Not by a long shot.

Still, with a small glance up, Peter could see the look on May's face, the silent plead for him to take the jacket, to accept her offer. To do this one small thing for her. He turned away and stared down at the jacket once more before a hint of a smile spread onto his face. "Isn't this the one he spilled coffee on?"

May shook her head with a chuckle. "Nah. That was another one."

"I'm sure you still have it somewhere in this mess." The teen murmured with a smirk, May pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek as she threw him a dirty look before throwing her hand over her shoulder as she turned away. "Whatever. This place is basically like a thrift store. I have one of everything in here. I'm pretty sure I could score my hands on some crown jewels if I just look hard enough in the back of my closet." She called as she walked into the kitchen, her laugh mirroring Peter's.

The teen moved to sit on the couch, a small sigh escaping his lips as he realized it was probably the first time he'd sat down in the last two hours. Pulling one of the empty boxes closer to him with the toe of his shoe, Peter opened the flaps and grabbed a handful of the CDs, stacking them inside neatly and orderly until they were all situated inside.

In the corner of his eye, he could make out May grabbing a glass of water as she reached for the newspaper she hadn't had the time to look at during their little impromptu spring cleaning session. However, his focus quickly returned to the jacket sitting next to him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching over and pulling it into his lap. Running his hands over the leather, Peter could feel each and every imperfection in the stitching where Ben had had to make numerous repairs. Still, in the back of his mind Peter could remember a stubborn voice refusing to buy a new jacket, saying this one was special.

Peter let a smile stretch across his face as he neatly folded the jacket up and placed it on top of the box of CDs.

"Uh, Peter...?"

The teen looked up at his name, watching as May walked over, newspaper in hand. He opened his mouth to ask what was up, only to pause as he caught sight of the look on May's face. Instantly feeling a small pit opening up in his stomach, the teen narrowed his eyes and rose up to his feet. "What's wrong?" He asked, fearing the answer as May got closer.

"Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the front page today?"

"No...why?"

The woman threw him a concerned look before flipping the newspaper around so that the front page faced him. It was easy to pinpoint the exact moment when the image clicked in the teen's brain, for it perfectly coincided with the spreading look of absolute shock washing over the teen's face like a tidal wave.

"Shit..."

* * *

**Saturday - April 9, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**05:08 p.m.**

**_ TONY STARK'S NEW MYSTERY KID _ **

**_Budding intern, secret love child, or shiny new toy?_ **

Tony stared down at the paper in his hands for a moment before roughly throwing it down onto the desk and glaring back up. "Okay, so did they just decide to have a competition down at the post to see who could come up with the most horrific title? Cause hands down, they're pulling out all the stops on this one."

Rhodey shook his head with a scoff from where he stood near the corner of the office. "Yeah, you got that right. Similar stories are popping up on almost every newspaper out there. New York Times, Washington Post, even the Daily Bugle. And that's just print. We haven't even gotten to the online hits this is getting." He called with a shake of his head.

"No. No! What I want to know is what sicko decided the headlines for this? I mean, that is a fourteen-year-old kid on the front page of your newspaper!"

Both men raised their heads as Pepper walked into the office, hand pressed against the earpiece she was currently yelling into. Judging from her tone of voice and the pinched look of barely-restrained frustration, the conversation was not a pleasant one. "Yeah, no I got that. No, it's just- I'm saying..." Her voice suddenly cut off as she blinked in shock and moved her hand away from the earpiece.

With a loud groan, she pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose as she moved to sit on the corner of Tony's desk. "That's the _third_ newspaper that's hung up on me in the last twenty minutes." She muttered.

Rhodey snorted and turned a disgusted look upon the others. "Figures. They're trying to make as much headway with this as possible which means they're gonna avoid you like the plague. At least until the media storm begins to settle."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "If they have the balls to paste stuff like that and spew it around the city, then they should have the balls to answer for it."

"Yeah, well...last I checked, _'accountable for their actions'_ isn't usually very high-listed on journalist resumes." Tony scoffed, only for Rhodey to lift a brow at him.

"Glass houses, Tones."

"...shut up."

The man lowered his head to glare back down at the paper before him. The image above the words was that of Tony and Peter from a few days before, sitting on the curb outside Delmar's. The picture obviously must have been taken before the two became aware of the media presence because their faces were lax and natural, identical grins on both of their features.

When Pepper had walked into his office early that morning with a mixed look of anger and worry, Tony had quickly realized that his sub-par morning was about to take a dive. Of course, his suspicions had been confirmed and the woman had shown him the article that damn near made him spit out the coffee he'd been sipping.

When the cameras and reporters had first found them on Thursday, Tony had known it would only be a matter of time before papers began to get published about the little encounter. The man just hadn't expected them to be so...well, like _reporters._ Vulgar and gross with a dash of conspiracy.

"What kind of damage are we looking at here?" Tony asked with a sigh.

Pepper moved off of the desk and turned to grab at some of the papers that currently rested on the desk. "Right now, it shouldn't be too bad considering they're basically working with nothing. All they have is his face."

With that, Tony spun around in his seat so that he was now facing the window. The sun still hung in the air above the skyline, but it was slowly making its way down, casting the sky around it in a nice golden hue that didn't really reflect the internal screaming that currently echoed off of Tony's rib cage as he continued to mull over the same situation he'd been thinking about for the past two hours.

The man let out a tired sigh and rubbed his face. Rhodey seemed to take notice of the man's slumped form as he walked over and placed a hand on the billionaire's shoulder. "Why don't I call up some food for us? If we go any further on an empty stomach, we're gonna start getting snippy."

"Start?" Tony quipped back, only for his friend to roll his eyes.

"So what's it gonna be?"

"Anything swimming in grease."

The colonel nodded his head. "Pizza it is, then. Be right back." He murmured before pulling his phone out of his pocket and walking out of the room.

Twisting his chair back around, Tony let out a muffled groan as he rested his elbows on the desk before him and placed his forehead down on the cool mahogany surface. Media storms were _never_ fun to deal with. Never had been, no matter how used to them he was. He'd had his fair share considering his first exposure had been when he was four and the experiences ranged from boring interviews to god-awful _'night_ _after_ ' photos that still haunted him to this very day in a worst-of list that seemed never-ending.

Still, thinly-veiled hints of pedophilia were quickly making their way to the top of that list.

The tell-tale clack of Pepper's heels against the tile floors reached his ears before he felt her lay a gently hand over the top of his head. If _he_ was feeling the effects of this, the man could only wince at how Peter would react when he finally saw it. The thought made a pit open up in his stomach that seemed to threaten his very intestines. Tony straightened up as he met Pepper's gaze.

"What are the chances he hasn't seen it yet?"

Pepper thought about it for a moment before she opened her mouth, only for the two to turn towards the door as they heard the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor getting closer and closer. Before they could question what the noise was, Peter was rounding the corner and standing in the doorway, face red and flushed as he panted heavily, hair slick against his forehead.

"Survey says...not great."

From behind the teen, Happy came into view as well, leaning up against the door frame as he wheezed, seemingly having run behind the kid the entire time. "Sorry...I was gonna call...tell you." He puffed. "Kid's fast."

"Peter?" Tony said the name with a hint of confusion. It was Saturday. Kid wasn't scheduled to come back in till Monday.

Suddenly realizing what their office currently looked like, the billionaire quickly pushed all the articles currently strewn atop his desk into the drawers and out of sight. "Yeah, hi." The teen gasped out, venturing farther into the office as he greedily gulped in more mouthfuls of air.

"Not that I'm not _always_ happy to see my pasty-faced hormonal charges on unscheduled days of the week but what are you doing here and - did you _run_ here?"

The teen didn't respond, only lifted a finger and waved it in a sort of gesturing motion before giving up on trying to convey whatever he was and simply giving a shaky thumbs up. He rested his hands on his knees as he gave the ' _one minute_ ' signal before inhaling a large breath of air and straightening back up.

"Right, so sorry for barging in like this. I know you probably weren't expecting to see me here today and if I'm really being honest I wasn't expecting to be here either and considering the circumstances I kinda wish I _wasn't_ here but I am which kinda sucks cause I was actually helping out May today and - do you know how much of a hoarder she is? Right, of course you don't. Why would you know that? That's weird. But anyway I'm kinda losing where I'm going with this and-

"Kid, kid." Tony called, raising his hands to get the teen to shut up. Peter did with a snap of his jaw. "Can we just skip to the important part?"

"Right, right." Peter reached up to rub his neck. "So, I know you said I shouldn't be concerned about anything back when we were at Delmar's but..." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, one Tony didn't have to really look at to know what it was. "...I have some concerns anyway."

Tony glanced over at Pepper and noticed the concerned look she was now giving him. Turning back towards Peter, the billionaire stood up and threw him a smile. "Yeah, we were just talking about that now, right Pep?"

"Uh-"

"Yeah, so we were talking and Pepper was just telling me that she see's stuff like this all the time, kid. _All_ the time. It's nothing to worry about. Just another run-of-the-mill scoop here, huh Pep?"

"I-"

"It's just a little thing, kid. Nothing to get all concerned over and-"

"Mr. Stark?" The kid called, effectively cutting the man off as he threw him an exasperated look. "I _know_ that's not true. I mean, just look at this place." He murmured with an uneasy look, glancing around at the papers still lying on the floor by his feet. "Just give it to me straight here."

 _Not a good idea._ "Kid I don't know if that's a good idea."

Peter shook his head. "Look, I don't wanna be sidewinded by this thing, alright? I don't wanna be in Home Ec on Monday and pull out my phone to see I'm the leading story on Good Morning America or something!" The teen sighed and ran a hand through his hair before glancing up at the man before him. "Just...just tell me the truth. Tell me what's going on."

Tony stared down at the teen, the swirling unease in his stomach not settling as he caught the pleading look on Peter's face. Still, as he looked over towards Pepper and saw her shrugging her shoulders at him, the billionaire couldn't help the sigh that bubbled past his lips once more. Lying to the kid was probably gonna cause more problems than just telling him the truth right now, he had to admit, no matter how uncomfortable it was going to make them.

He turned back towards Peter, only to pause as he caught sight of Rhodey in the background, phone pressed up to his ear as the colonel spoke to whoever was on the other end of the call, most presumably the closest pizzeria to them.

The billionaire felt a smirk fall onto his face. "You hungry, kid?"

"Always. Why?"

**. . . . .**

"What kind of state doesn't have legal laws prohibiting the release of information on a minor? It's the 21st century here! I thought kids had rights nowadays!"

Tony threw the kid a look of resigned frustration as he watched Peter pace back and forth in front of the couch he currently sat on. "New York, apparently. Trust us, that was the first thing we looked into."

Tony, Peter, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all currently resided in the penthouse above the office they'd previously established. Boxes upon boxes of pizza currently sat opened on the table before them, different slices of different pizzas all held in their respective hands. Tony was grateful he'd asked Rhodey to order two extra pizzas for Peter considering the teen ate almost as much food for three separate people.

For the past hour, they'd been going over the details of the story as well as whatever they were gonna do to counter it.

Tony could honestly say he didn't want Peter to be a part of this conversation at _all._ He didn't want the kid involved in this matter in the first place so having to share the gorey details of their grizzly situation wasn't exactly primo.

But the billionaire also knew it wouldn't sit too well with the kid if they hid anything from him, which was what led to them all sitting around the living room horking down pizzas while spitballing the worst of their situation.

"Eventually people are gonna recognize you as the same kid from all those pictures with Richard Parker." Rhodey pointed out as he gestured with the pizza slice in his hand.

Happy furrowed his brow from his seat across from them. "And they'll probably have some questions as to why Parker's son is hanging around the top name for his rival's company."

"Right..." Peter murmured, glancing down at the slice in his hand. He stuffed the rest in his mouth before glancing over towards Tony. "So how do we counter _that?"_

Tony let out a groan as he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down. " _We_...well actually _I_ am gonna have to make sure our cover is flawless here, just in case people start to sniff around and get suspicious. So that means verifying all of your fake files, kid and getting started on the works for the new internship program."

Pepper furrowed her brow. "What _'new internship program'_?"

"The one I'm gonna make."

All three adults turned to look at each other before turning towards the billionaire as if he'd just announced he was gonna jump from the top of the tower in nothing but Iron Man pajamas. Peter's head swiveled back and forth between the group and Tony, unsure as to what they were all confused about.

"Tony, are you serious?"

"You gotta be joking."

The man stared back at them as he raised his hands. "What? Why is that so hard to believe?"

Pepper threw him a deadpanned look as she pursed her lips. "Cause you're _you_. The same guy who thinks - and _I_ quote - _kids are useless snot-nosed little gremlins wadding around in their own vomit and bad ideas until they finally hit a growth spurt and become adults that can do something useful with their previously pointless lives'._ "

Everyone in the room grew silent at that. Peter turned to look at the billionaire, wide eyes blinking back at him. Tony stared at him before shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"You always say that."

"I - they're paraphrasing...I didn't say _exactly_ that." He waved his hands in the air, seemingly dispelling their words from the atmosphere as the others smirked behind their hands and Peter continued to stand there confused. "Anyway, I'm opening it up to _college_ students, alright? Jeez, you really think I'm gonna let some beady-eyed, sweat driven little fourteen-year-old brats who can't even operate their own bodies let alone expensive equipment in here ?"

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Ahem..."

"Damn, I keep forgetting you're here. Well, you're the exception anyway, kid so whatever!"

The other three adults didn't even bother in trying to hide their snickers this time, only Peter joined them with a toothy grin as he glanced down at the ground before turning towards the billionaire. "Well thanks. And if it means anything, I do like to think I have pretty fine motor skills. Well enough to crime fight, at least."

"Yeah, yeah..." Tony muttered with a pout before throwing a garlic knot at the kid's head. The kid caught it, obviously, popping it into his mouth afterwards as Tony turned to face the others once again. "Look, it's not ideal. If I could help it, I'd keep any and all people under the age of thirty out of my tower - don't even _start_ with me again, Parker - but this is what we're dealing with."

The teen stared down at his hands, fingers flexing slightly, almost as if they were sore. He felt Mr. Stark turn to look at him, but the man didn't push him to speak as the teen merely traced the lines in his palm. After a moment, he finally spoke.

"Look, my dad...my dad is all about image, okay." He murmured. "That's why he's always making me go to those stupid gala things or donating to whatever charity of the week he thinks will garner up more support in the public eye." He said with a sigh, resting his cheek against a propped-up fist. "It's just...PR is _gold_ to him. And if this gets worse...I don't know how he'll react, you know?"

He lifted his head to look at the adults around him, only to find they were staring at each other sharing mixed looks of concern, anger or frustration. Tony's fingers were curled into a fist that Peter knew had something to do with the words he's just spoken. Immediately feeling the same bout of indignant fire he'd felt with Danny, Peter glared down at the floor before him. "Don't take that the wrong way, alright? It's perfectly reasonable for any dad to get concerned when their son is making font page headlines with - let's face it - his top competitor." He growled out.

He could feel Tony turn to look at him, the teen inwardly cringing as he wondered maybe he'd been rude again, only for the man to speak before he could think about apologizing. "No, no. I understand, Pete. I got you."

The teen lifted his head to look at him for a moment before ducking away and giving a small nod, shutting his mouth and locking his jaw. Tony inwardly cursed, but said nothing about it. No point in making it any worse.

"Okay, so we got what we're gonna do once this gets bad, but what are we gonna do about it right _now?_ " Happy asked, crumpling up the napkin in his hands before tossing it into his empty plate, thankfully shifting the topic once more.

Rhodey leaned back in his chair, watching as Peter continued to pace back and forth in front of them. Nobody told him to stop. If anything, it was better than watching the nervous energy spread to his face. "So far, it seems to be contained mainly to the papers. I haven't gotten word of any news channels running with it."

Pepper pursed her lips slightly. "Probably waiting for more info to leak through."

"Yeah, hopefully bad info on me. Lately, I seem to be their favorite billionaire-flavored chew toy." Tony muttered from his seat as he angrily ripped another slice away from the box.

"So, they're not working with a lot right now, right?" Peter asked, the others nodding. "Then that means they'll probably be even more eager to find more pictures."

"Exactly." Rhodey said from his seat. "Which is _exactly_ why the two of you need to lay low for a while." At Peter's look of mild concern, the man continued. "Okay, not really you, Pete. Just...right now they're starved for more information, so they're gonna be on the lookout for the two of you together, okay? So, until this dies down a little more, I suggest the two of you avoid going out in public spaces for a little while. Together, at least."

Tony nodded along as his friend spoke, shrugging his shoulders as the man finished. "Seems easy enough. Though I must admit, your little plan to get me out of the tower more is gonna take a little bit of a dive I'm afraid." He said with a mock pout, Pepper rolling her eyes while Rhodey flicked him off.

The billionaire chuckled and turned his head to gauge Peter's reaction, only to pause as he noticed the kid rubbing his arm, glancing down at the ground as a look of resigned disappointment made its way onto his face. Tony cocked a head in mild confusion, for the teen had been taking everything else they'd been saying fairly well. Why _now_ was he looking so...upset?

Nevertheless, the man stood up and made his way over to the teen, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders. Peter jumped slightly at the touch but lifted his head as Tony stared down at him. "Hey, it's gonna be fine, kid." He said with a small smile, assuming the teen was just upset about the whole ordeal. "We've got your back on this, alright?"

Peter stared up at the man before glancing over towards the others, who were all making their way over as well. "I know it's all a bit overwhelming, Peter." Pepper said with a sad smile. "But we've been dealing with stuff like this for a _long_ time now. And our PR team's the best money can buy."

"I'll be there to drive you to the Tower, alright kid? If anyone ever gives you trouble, I'll be right there waiting for you." Happy said with his usual frown in place. Though Tony had known the man long enough to notice that his frown held small traces of a smile at the corners of his lips, his eyes not quite so hard as usual.

Rhodey patted the teen on the back. "It's gonna be fine, Peter. All we gotta do is get through to Stage 5 and we're in the clear."

At that, Peter pulled away to stare at the man in confusion, tilting his head slightly. "Stage 5?" He asked before turning to face all of them. "What's Stage 5?"

"Stage 5's what we're shooting for here, kid." Tony said with a small sigh. "The little light at the end of the tunnel so to speak."

Obviously, the explanation didn't do much to help Peter, for the kid continued to scrunch his nose and narrow his eyes in thought. "I don't get it. There's stages? Are they like steps or something?"

"Kinda?" Tony said with a shrug of his shoulders. "We've dealt with so many media storms in our lifetime that we started to see a repeating pattern with all of the ordeals we encountered. After a while, we were able to organize them all into stages of sorts."

Peter seemed to perk slightly at that. "Oh, so...like a lifespan?"

Tony nodded his head. "Yeah. Stage 1's what we're dealing with now. That initial little drip of information that leaks to the masses. Usually the info itself is small but it's enough for them to get the scent of blood in the water. This is the step with that first bout of excited drabble."

"Stage 2 is the initial aftermath." Pepper chimed in as she moved back over to the table and began to pick up the empty pizza boxes. "After the information begins to taper off, the masses are left starving with that one tiny bit of news they _did_ get, the excitement bubbling down to nothing as the story is seemingly lost in the sea of Hollywood bubblegum that usually overrides it." She passed some of the boxes to the boys and motioned for them to follow her over to the kitchen

"Stage 3 is the release of more info." Happy said as he dropped the boxes onto the counter, doing the same with the boxes Peter handed to him. "In our case, it'll be when people find out you're Richard Parker's kid. It mainly just covers the extra information that revitalizes the original story."

Rhodey wiped a napkin over his grease-covered fingers. "Stage 4 follows and is undoubtedly the worst. It's the tsunami of mass hysteria that comes after the story drops. People tweet, news stations gossip, conspiracy sites open up. Basically all the shit you could associate with a media storm can be summed up in Stage 4."

Peter hopped up onto the bar, watching the others talk with a look of slight concern. He blew out a sigh and rested his cheek against his fist. "Great. So I have _that_ to look forward to."

"Well, hold on there." Tony called as he leaned up against the bar beside the kid. "That brings us to Stage 5, the heaven send. That's the _final_ aftermath. When the hype dies down and everything starts to go back to normal. People get bored and move on to someone else to hound. Stage 5 ends it."

Peter turned to look at him before letting out a small chuckle. "Well then Stage 5 can't come soon enough." Tony smirked and lightly tapped the teen in the shoulder with his fist.

It didn't take them long to finish cleaning up the rest of dinner, despite the number of pizza boxes they'd actually managed to go through. Tony stood over by the sink, depositing the last of the dishes in before mentally reminding himself to set the dishwasher later that night. Behind him, Peter spoke with Rhodey and Happy. Judging from the occasional deep chuckles and higher-pitched giggles, the trio were entertaining themselves fairly well.

The billionaire was so preoccupied with the dishes before him that he barely even noticed when Pepper walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. The man turned to look at her as she spoke. "Does Peter need to be home soon?" She asked in a hushed tone, even though the two knew it was basically pointless. If he wanted to, Peter could probably hear them even if they went into a different room.

However, stealing a glance over towards the kid, Tony noticed he didn't look up from where he was laughing as Rhodey showed him pictures from his phone. Tony cringed slightly, realizing there had to be quite a number of incriminating photos of himself on his friend's phone. Nevertheless, he leaned closer to the woman before him and shook his head. "Said his dad was working late tonight."

The woman gave a nod of her own before turning to watch the three others from where they sat at the bar. It was hard to really get a read on the woman's face, but the small smile that spread onto her lips was indicator enough. For a moment, the two said nothing, simply content with watching silently as a calming atmosphere settled over the room in a way that hadn't been present for some time now.

She watched for a moment longer before leaning closer to the man next to her. "You're doing a good job, Tony."

He said nothing for a moment, watching Peter smile as he giggled at something Rhodey said, Happy grumbling off to the side that made it seem like the joke was at his expense.

Tony had to admit, Peter _was_ doing better. The teen hadn't stuttered _once_ in the time they'd been together, not to mention he also seemed much more relaxed talking to them as a group rather than just individually as they'd had to do in the first few weeks of meeting him. Whatever Tony was doing, as horrible as he _felt_ he was at this, it seemed to be doing... _something_.

The billionaire let out a small chuckle of his own. "Yeah, well...kid does most of the work for me, really." He murmured, feeling a small weight on his chest lift away as the teen threw his head back in laughter when Happy reached over to smack the colonel in the arm at whatever they'd said to each other.

Still, it was hard to ignore the looming obstacles gathering just outside the comfort of the Tower, a fact that made itself known on the frown that quickly spread onto the man's face. "We're gonna have hell to deal with soon enough, Pep." He murmured softly.

The woman said nothing at that, turning to glance back at the others before smiling once more. Tony blinked in surprise as he watched the woman hold up a couple of glasses of champagne. "Well then, let's make the most of this then, shall we?"

Tony stared at her for a moment before allowing the smile to return to his face, if only for a little while. He could enjoy it while it lasted. Holding up a ' _one minute_ ' sign, the man dug around in the fridge for a moment before pulling out a juice box, Pepper rolling her eyes as she silently mouthed ' _oh my god_ ' to him. He returned it with a cheeky grin before they made their way over to the others.

The other two guys stared at the drinks before growing smiles of their own, looks that grew even larger as Tony handed Peter the juice box. The teen stared down at it with a cocked brow and a deadpanned look before snatching it out of the billionaire's hands. "I hate that I love this kind." He muttered, the others cracking even wider grins as he removed the little plastic straw.

Nevertheless, Peter held out his little juice box - complete with bendy straw - as the others held out their glasses. Despite the less than ideal circumstances that had brought them where they were, they couldn't hold back the smiles that spread onto their faces, not even Happy, who despite his best efforts, had a small upturn to the corners of his mouth.

Tony glanced around at all the people before him. People who, to anybody else, should be nothing more than work companions. A military and government liaison. His company CEO. A chauffeur, bodyguard and security manager wrapped in one. And finally, a high-school intern that moonlighted as a teenage superhero. It was almost like a demented version of the Breakfast Club, sans the 80s clothes and questionable haircuts.

Still, the man could honestly say that each and every person standing before him meant something more. He couldn't exactly put it into words, per say. If anything it was more of a feeling. Something deep in his gut that told him everything he needed was right there in front of him.

It was a gut feeling that had hidden itself away the second he'd felt a shield break his chest.

But in that moment, Tony didn't think about the media. He didn't think about Ross. Didn't think about the Accords, or the Avengers, or Steve. All he could think about was the glass in his hands and the smile on Peter's face.

"To Stage 5."

"TO STAGE 5!"

* * *

**Sunday - April 10, 2016**

**Queens, NY - East Flushing**

**01:13 a.m.**

"I'm gonna tear you to pieces, you little freak!"

"What? For stopping your little shopping spree? You know you're a heavy spender, girl! If anything, I just spared you from some serious shopper's regret later on!"

Spidey couldn't really say anymore before the blast was slamming into his chest, sending him careening into the alleyway wall behind him. He fell to the ground and couldn't suppress a groan as he placed a hand to his head.

Okay, so maybe he _did_ talk a bit too much during these battles.

He didn't have anymore time to contemplate such a thing as a fist came swinging for his face. Ducking out of reach and flipping backwards right as the reinforced fist slammed into the concrete wall where his head had been, the hero leapt away and clung to the wall above the two thugs.

They were both dressed similarly, with dark clothes that seemed a bit scraggly and ragged. One of them was a woman who had a fairly large stature with defined muscles and a strong chin despite her young features. The other was a much skinnier man.

However, neither of the two seemed like anything impressive. They just seemed like your average run-of-the-mill thugs looking for a score.

Albeit, they did seem...pretty _young._

Or at least, they _would_ have if it weren't for the blaster in the skinny man's hands and the high-powered metallic gloves reinforcing the larger girl's arms and hands, making her punches all the more lethal.

The large metal crates presumably filled with stolen tech from the manufacturing building they were fighting next to sat discarded near the back walls, seemingly forgotten about as the thugs faced off against the masked arachnid.

Peter leapt off the wall right as the skinny man fired off a blast from the smoking gun, skidding along the ground as he slid under the man's legs and kicked them out from underneath him, flipping backwards as the man's partner punched the air where he'd been seconds earlier. Catching one of the nearby trash cans in his webs, Spider-Man swung it around before hurtling it towards the gloved woman.

She slammed her fist into the oncoming projectile, the can exploding into bits of flaming metal and garbage as the gloves hissed and the metallic plates shifted before falling still once more.

Peter mentally cursed the gloves, summing them up to be one of Curt's new inventions before flipping away from another punch, only to land right in the path of the gun's new blast.

He shouted in pain as the blast him him in the shoulder, sending him skidding backwards. His feet slid against the concrete before he gained traction once more, leaning down to press a hand to the cold floor as he hissed in pain and fought to catch his breath, only to dodge to the side as the woman slammed her fist into the concrete, leaving cracks and dents in the stained ground.

He slid against the ground once more and whipped back around, body poised and low to the ground as he watched the woman stand back up, small pieces of gravel falling away from her hand. "We're just trying to do a job." She finally spoke, thin strands of brunette hair falling down around her face as she stared back at him.

Peter felt the sensors on his mask's lenses shrink and narrow. "So am I."

She narrowed her own eyes at the hero before gritting her teeth and charging.

Having been ready for her attack, Peter flipped over onto his back, performing a backwards hand stand before shooting his legs out where they connected hard with the girl's chest, driving her backwards.

She quickly recovered, twisting around with a reared back fist, only for Spidey to spring up and fire a barrage of quick-fire webs at her, the substance wrapping around her midsection, trapping her arms to her sides.

Skidding to a halt, the woman glared down at her trapped form before letting out a loud grunt of effort, the metallic bindings on her arms glowing slightly as the plates shifted once more and she snapped her arms up, the webbing ripping right along with it.

"Shit..." The teen muttered underneath his breath, only to yelp as another bright blast shot right over his head. Ducking down to the ground, he decided to switch tactics.

Focusing on the gauntlets in the larger woman's hands, he dodged another blast from the gun and leapt up onto the wall, springing off of it and towards the girl.

"You know what? This is getting too graphic for you. I don't want you watching this." Firing a glob of webbing towards her eyes, the thug grunted as it made contact, effectively blinding her.

However, before Peter could get a good shot at her gauntlets, the woman swung around wildly, causing him to leap backwards right as another blast shot forward, hitting the teen in the side and sending him hurtling backwards.

Hitting the stone floor hard, the hero grunted and quickly rose back up to his feet before he could be blindsided once more. The familiar burn of the weapon's blast could be felt through the suit as his skin pulled taut once more. He choked back the whimper of pain and instead blew a harsh breath past his lips.

The woman reached up with a snarl and ripped the webbing in her eyes away from her face. Whipping around, her gaze landed on the hero once more, but not before he was already making his way towards her.

With that, Peter leapt up above the woman's head and landed on her shoulders, webbing up her legs and yanking hard, the thug letting a shout fall from her mouth as she slammed into the ground face-first.

Her skinnier partner seemed to panic slightly as he saw his partner go down, especially when Spidey started to web up the large woman's arms to her sides and render the gloves useless as they were covered in the goo-like substance.

Nevertheless, he charged up the gun again and fired a huge green blast towards them.

"Whoa!" Peter shouted as he leapt out of the way right as the blast tore a huge hole in the wall behind him, bricks and stones clattering to the ground. Rearing back up, Spidey stared down the man as his hands shook. "Watch where you're pointing that thing, man! You're gonna shoot your eye out!"

The man chose to ignore his comments as he continued to fire blast after blast while Peter ducked and dodges, bright green lights lighting up the alley like a demented Christmas lights show.

Faintly picking up the soft sound of police sirens in the distance, Spidey realized he'd have to wrap this up quickly if he didn't want the cops to interrupt them, increasing the likelihood that someone would get hurt.

Twirling right by another blast, the teen shot a glob of webbing at the man's feet. Off balance, the thug fell onto his backside, eyes staring fearfully at the vigilante as he approached. Before he could think better of it, the man's shaking hands reached towards the dial on the side of the blaster, praying there was some sort of setting that would help him.

"WAIT!" Spider-man shouted as the blaster began to hum loudly, the glow emanating from inside beginning to fizzle and grow brighter with each second. The man obviously had no idea what to do as he whimpered and stared at the gun in his hands, seemingly frozen.

Rushing forward, Peter ripped the gun out of the man's hands and wrapped it as thickly as possible in webbing before whipping it as far as he could up into the air. A second of silence passed before the gun exploded in a hail of green light and burnt webbing.

The two remaining fighters ducked down as the blast blew right above their heads, warily glancing back up as they took in the sight of smoke billowing around them

Peter and the trapped thug stared at the sky for a moment before the former turned to the latter. "You know, that would have been _great_ to Instagram. Why don't I ever have my phone when I need it? That ever happen to you? Frikkin sucks."

**. . . . .**

The sirens he'd heard before in the midst of the fight were steadily growing louder as Peter moved the webbed up thugs over to the back wall of the alleyway, lifting the heavy metal crates of stolen goods over his shoulder like they were nothing.

Placing the boxes down next to the thugs with a loud _thud_ that reverberated through the ground and made his toes twitch in the suit, he webbed up the crates and positioned them next to the two criminals like a nicely wrapped present for the officers.

"And... _there!_ Don't you two just look _lovely_? Now play nice for your ol- pal Spidey, huh?"

"Come on, man! Just let us go! We won't tell nobody!"

The teen turned to face them with a shrug of his shoulders and a playful smirk spreading across his face underneath the mask. It was always fun pleading with criminals after the fact, seeing just what they were willing to do in order to gain their freedom.

One guy offered to buy him dinner. The guy only pick-pocketed some guy's watch which Peter returned, so he settled for a milkshake and a slap on the wrist.

"See, now if I did that for you, I'd have to do it for everybody and that just doesn't seem very productive for a crime-fighting vigilante, now does it?" He chuckled before turning away. "No, I think I'll let you try that one out on the cops. Who knows? Maybe they'll have a different answer if you're nice enough."

The woman glared down at the ground and locked her jaw, seemingly realizing she wasn't going to get anywhere with the teen. Her partner, however, had a much different reaction.

"They're gonna kill us!"

Peter paused at that, glancing unimpressed at the thugs. "Oh, please. I think you're being a bit dramatic. Just don't mention anything about donuts to them and you'll be fine. Seriously, apparently they hate that. Guess they're more scones people."

The man shook his head, glaring at the hero with wide fearful eyes as the teen turned and began to walk away. "Not the cops, you idiot! Kingsman!"

Peter froze in his tracks, a deep stone dropping in the pit of his stomach, nearly making his body drop at the sheer weight of it as it plunked down into his gut like a boulder smashing into steady waters below.

The teen felt a shaky breath leave his lips as he slowly turned to stare back at the two thugs, who were now throwing him looks of desperation.

Despite the fact that he'd known these guys had been working for his father the second he'd seen the weapons they'd been using and the products they'd tried to steal, he still couldn't help the gut feeling that dropped at the borderline terror edging the man's voice.

He knew that fear. He'd grown up with that fear.

_(Forget about them.)_

_(They brought this on themselves.)_

_(They deserve it.)_

He turned back around and didn't bother in facing them as he continued to walk towards the end of the alleyway. The lights above his head seemed to flicker with each step he took, seemingly leaving the alleyway darker and darker the father he went, like shadows stretching from his retreating form, reaching out dark icy claws towards the two people he'd left.

His body poised to spring up and web away, but for some reason...his hand just wouldn't obey.

"We failed him. He won't let us go."

_(Just jump. Just jump and swing away.)_

"Once the cops get us, he'll send people after us, that is if the cops that get us aren't already in on it too. We'll be dead within the week!"

_(So what? So what if you know that's true? Doesn't matter!)_

"That's what happened to everyone else!"

_(Fucking LEAVE!)_

"Please...I-I don't wanna die."

. . . .

. . . .

He pushed back the shrill shrieking of the voice in the back of his mind and turned to face the thugs. Now that the battle was over and the adrenaline was no longer spiking in dangerous intervals, Peter could see what he hadn't been able to see before.

He saw the softer edges of the girl's face, the large brown eyes in a face that hadn't even been granted a mask.

The fresh meat were never given masks. As if their existence was already so inconsequential that their faces provided the perfect mask already.

He saw the scars on the man's face, faded and white but still visible. He saw a man that wasn't ready to be called a man yet. He couldn't have been much older than nineteen.

In fact, neither of them could have been older than 25.

. . . .

Too young to die.

_(They all are.)_

He knelt down to face the pair, the boy shrinking back slightly as Peter leaned closer. The teen tried to ignore the sound of encroaching sirens as he faced off against them, the harsh glare that had been marring the girl's face no longer present. "What's your name?" He found himself asking before he could think better of it.

The boy stared at him for a second, eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to get a read on him. He opened his mouth, only for the girl to nudge him and shake her head. He glanced over at her before turning back to face Peter.

"Bobby. M-my name's Bobby."

The teen stared at him, taking in his shaking form and terrified face. He could still hear the voice in the back of his head, condemning him for his actions, but he just couldn't stop looking at the boy's face. He couldn't stop hearing the fear in his voice, the pleading desperation he'd come to know so well.

"That's a nice name."

The pair blinked in surprise at the vigilante in front of him, the few words being the only _real_ dialogue they'd shared not counting quips and banter.

"S-short for Robert..."

"Figured as much."

Peter knew speaking to such people perhaps wasn't the smartest thing to do, then again, neither was what he was about to do _next._ And yet, the teen couldn't really bring himself to care as he reached into one of the compartments on his belt, removing a vial of clear liquid.

"Listen to me." He said, his voice now strong and commanding, a sharp contrast to the quiet tone it had taken on. "You have to leave the weapons. You are to never see your boss again. Never interact with them, LISTEN-" He snapped his fingers near their faces to make sure they hung onto his words. "They will try to find you once they realize you've split. You need to lay low and stay in the shadows. No deals. No bangers. No nothing. You understand me. If you show your face to anyone on the inside, you will die. Do you understand?"

They frantically nodded their heads as Peter began to pour the liquid onto the webbing, a soft hissing filling the air as they instantly began to dissolve. As soon as it was gone, the girl leapt up to her feet, tore off the straps on her arms and sprinted down the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows before Peter even had a chance to open his mouth.

The teen stared off at where she'd disappeared to, the noticeable lack of shuffling sounds notifying him that Bobby hadn't tried to do the same.

Letting a small sigh fall from his lips, Peter slowly rose up to his feet and turned around, meeting Bobby's wide-eyed stare. The boy stood just a little taller than him, Bobby's fingers twitching nervously at his sides as he angeled his eyes towards the end of the alleyway where the sound of sirens continued to grow.

Still, he made no moves to escape, simply staring back at Peter with wide blinking eyes.

. . . .

"Why?"

Peter stared at him for a moment, the flashing of red and blue lights dimply growing stronger on the walls of his periphery. The teen swallowed down the bile rising in the back of his throat and curled his sweaty fingers into fists as he shut his eyes and turned to stare at the wall beside them where the crates still stood stacked and webbed safely. "You should go. They'll be here any second."

The boy glanced once more to the alleyway exit and then back to Spider-Man. He opened his mouth, only to grit his teeth and throw the hero a look that conveyed more than words ever could before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

Peter stared after him for a moment, body seemingly numb as his fingers twitched at his sides, almost seeming to hope the small movement would awaken the nerves in his muscles. However, the bright flashing of lights jarred him from his thoughts.

Quickly shaking his head, the teen turned and fired a web above his head.

Lifting off into the air, Peter found the numbness didn't leave. Not as he fired another web, not as the tell-tale weightlessness of free-falling grabbed his throat and punched his gut before he pulled back up, and not as the wind whipped around him like wild banshees clawing at his bones.

Despite the stimuli that flared in New York City's night life hours, Peter found none of it could warm the freezing numbness that seemed to have settled in his chest. None of it could wake him from the dream-like state he found himself in, a state he could only hope wouldn't last past morning.

And as he swung and his house drew nearer and the numbness grew, Peter found he still couldn't answer the boy's question.

_(Why?)_


	17. Go For The Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He nudged the boy back. "Thanks, Ned."
> 
> "If both teams would please make their way to the starting tables. The match will begin in five minutes."
> 
> "Don't mention it, man. Now...let's go kick some nerdy butts."
> 
> "Ned...we're nerds."
> 
> "Exactly! And let's make sure they don't forget it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Character Sheet 4: Midtown's Finest](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/post/622478299857387520/character-sheet-4-midtowns-finest)
> 
> All artwork done by me over on [A Beautiful Lie Blog](https://a-beautiful-lie-blog.tumblr.com/)

**Saturday - April 16, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**04:44 p.m.**

The steam from the bathroom seemed to fill the entire room as Peter stepped out, the towel he was currently rubbing against his scalp making his hair stick up at odd angles. He draped the towel around his shoulders as he moved farther into the room, the bottom cuffs of his jeans now damp as the last few bits of water dripped down his legs and pooled into the denim fabric.

After whisking away enough of the dripping water from his bare midsection, Peter tossed the damp cloth onto the floor and moved to pick up his shirt. He draped it over his head and pulled it down taut before glancing over at the bright yellow Decathlon jacket that hung on the back of his closet door.

The teen walked over to his desk and picked up his phone from where it was charging. Glancing at the time, the teen gave a small nod. He still had plenty of time before Ned came to pick him up.

So with that, the teen finished dressing and _attempted_ to run a comb through his hair, though he knew it was a pointless endeavor. His hair always ended up looking fluffy and slightly messy no matter how many times he tried to tame it down.

Walking over towards the entrance to his bedroom, Peter cracked it open just a bit and peeked his head out to look around the corner. There was no sign of his father, which meant he was probably downstairs talking to the Cons if the voices drifting up from the room below were any indication.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, the teen stepped back and closed the door, resting his hands against the smooth surface as he shut his eyes for a moment.

Ever since the story about him and Mr. Stark had leaked to the press, neither his father nor the Cons had made any mention of it. Now there were a number of options for their lack of reaction. The first was that they simply hadn't heard of the story, which Peter found hard to believe. The second was that his father had instructed the others not to say anything.

Peter didn't know what that could mean, but he knew no good could come out of it. If anything, the suspense was more terrifying than anything else...at least for now.

Still, the teen tried to shake such thoughts from his head as his eyes caught the calendar hanging on the back of his door. Today's date was circled in red marker multiple times, Peter grinning slightly as he felt the same bout of excitement that had gripped him when he'd done such a thing returning. A full bout of nerves that always plagued him before a meet mingled with the familiar surge of excitement that reminded the teen of why he was on the team to begin with.

"Oi! What's got you all prissy an' ready to go?"

Peter jerked at the sudden voice, only to let out another more annoyed sigh as he turned on his heel and faced his _open_ balcony window, Danny now resting on his bed with his arms folded underneath his head. Peter rolled his eyes and threw the teen a smile. "I have a Decathlon meet today."

"Oh, your nerd fight?"

"Yes...my nerd fight."

Danny nodded his head with a click of his tongue. "Sounds brutal. Make sure to pack plenty of inhalers and antiseptic."

Peter scoffed and turned away, opening up his closet door as he let his eyes drift over the pairs of shoes he owned. "What are you doing here anyway, D? What do you want, food?"

"No. But if you _wanted_ to give me some..."

Peter turned and shrugged his shoulders with a smirk. "Sorry. Kitchen's occupied so _neither_ of us are leaving here with full stomachs." Peter turned back around and crouched down when he found the pair of sneakers he was looking for.

"Nah, I'm joking'. I'm just here to crash for a sec."

Peter hummed but said nothing to insinuate that such a thing wasn't allowed as he sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted up a leg, slipping the shoes on one by one before crouching down to tie the laces. "Uh-huh? And your little impromptu visit has _nothing_ to do with the latest _news articles_ that have been making their way around the city."

The teen craned his neck to glance over at Danny, the older boy staring back at him for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. "Well...now that you _mention it..._ "

Peter shook his head. "It's nothing, Danny. Some reporters just happened to catch us together that time."

Danny cocked a brow as he brought up one leg to rest on the bent knee of the other. "You say that like it's not the last time it's gonn' happen."

Peter felt his face scrunch up slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I mean...they're inevitably gonna snag more pictures. Mr. Stark likes to get out of the Tower sometimes, and _sometimes_ it coincides with when school lets out. No big deal."

"Yeah, but why would a billionaire be eatin' at Delmar's?"

Once again, Peter turned to the boy and shrugged his shoulders. "He asked where the best places to get food were around here."

"And you said Delmar's?"

"You _wouldn't_ say Delmar's?"

"Sub Haven's pretty good."

"You know how I feel about Sub Haven. We are _not_ getting into this again."

Danny turned away with a grin on his face while Peter chuckled on the edge of the bed. The younger teen ran a hand through his hair as he finished the last knot on his sneakers, purposefully keeping his eyes from meeting Danny's as he continued. "Who knows? I might even see him today."

There was no response for a moment as Danny turned back around. "What do you mean?"

"I might have...invited him to my Decathlon meet."

The homeless boy let out a scoff as he rolled over onto his side and used his elbow to prop himself up as he stared over at Peter. "And he'd go for that? Why, is there gonna be an open bar or somethin'?"

Peter threw him a look before glancing back down at the ground. "I think...I think he... _likes_ spending time with me." He said slowly as if the words themselves were hard to spit out. Hard to believe. "I think he... _likes_ being with me." Peter glanced down at his hands for a moment, letting the words ring in his ears for a moment before turning a tentative look towards his friend. "Do you think that's crazy?"

Danny stared at him for a moment before pursing his lips and tossing his head back lazily. "Maybe, but crazy seems to be a pretty big norm 'round you so I can't really say." He lifted a hand to look at his nails. "You already know how I feel 'bout the guy so I won't rehash it." He picked some dirt from in between his cuticles.

"You really should give him a chance, Danny. He's a good guy once you get to know him." Peter said with a smile as he turned back towards his friend. "Why don't you come to the tournament today? Maybe you could meet him." He folded his arms and scrunched his face slightly. "And if not, then you could at _least_ meet Ned. I've been friends with you guys since middle school and you two _still_ haven't met!"

Danny cringed slightly at the words, though not so much out of nerves than pure reluctance. His face then melted into a look of resigned indifference. "I'm not really a people person, cuz. Besides, watching nerds duel to see who's the nerdiest isn't really how I saw myself spending a Saturday."

Peter would have responded had he heard what Danny said. But he didn't.

Instead, his eyes were trained on the calendar once more, staring at a date he hadn't realized was as close as it was. It was a little less than two weeks from the mess that was today's circled date.

Well, _this_ box wasn't circled. It wasn't marked in any way, shape or form. To anyone else, the date would seem to hold no importance, at least not to Peter.

April 28th.

In the background, Danny called out his name, but once again, Peter gave no indication that he heard. Instead, his fingers continued to twitch, tapping up against the side of his leg before they gripped the fabric so tightly it was a miracle they didn't rip. The teen tried to swallow but found that his mouth had gone dry all of a sudden.

He was jerked from his trance as a pillow connected with the back of his head, causing him to jerk violently in shock. "Ey! What's up with you, mate? You spacin' on me or somethin'?"

Peter turned towards his friend and blinked his eyes. He felt a breath leave his lips so forcefully it took him a moment to realize it was because he'd been holding his breath. He licked his dry lips and turned away from Danny's scrutinizing look. "I should go." He said quietly, rising up from the bed.

"Alright. You don't mind if I crash here for a little bit, do ya?"

The teen shook his head as he grabbed his Decathlon jacket and pulled it onto one of his arms. "Nah, go ahead. Just be careful, alright? Last thing I need is my father catching whiff of you here."

Danny threw him a two-fingered salute. "Can do. Good luck in your nerd war. And say hi to Tony Stark for me."

Peter smiled and gave a nod before grabbing his phone and moving over towards the door. He stared down at the calendar for a moment before shaking his head and pulling open the door a little harder than he needed if the groan of the hinges was any indication.

He couldn't think about it now.

As the door closed, Danny couldn't help but turn a curious gaze to the calendar before finding nothing interesting about it and shrugging his shoulders, folding his arms underneath his head as he let out a content sigh on the comfortable bed.

**. . . . .**

Shaking the last of the troubling thoughts out of his head, Peter walked down the spiraling staircase that led to the second-floor kitchen. The sound of voices growing larger indicated that most of the Cons were there right now, most likely meaning his father was there too.

Stepping off the stairs and into the large kitchen, his suspicions were confirmed. Curt and Sandra were sitting at the bar, bottles of miscellaneous liquid in their hands as they chatted away, while Max sat at the kitchen table with Peter's father, both men glaring down at the papers strewn across the surface. Flint stood over by the fridge, currently rummaging through whatever contents it held.

Sandra spotted him first, cocking a brow as she took sight of the jacket around him. "Where you going?" She called with a lazy uninterested look in her eyes as she swirled the bottle in her hand a bit before bringing it to her lips.

Peter groaned, having hoped he'd be able to slip by them without their notice. Instead, he fiddled with the bottom hem of the jacket as he shrugged his shoulders. "I have a Decathlon meet today. N-Ned's picking me up...soon." He stuttered out, eyes downcast.

Curt rolled his eyes and snickered over towards the woman he sat beside. "God, sometimes I forget just how much of a loser you are, kiddo. Then lo and behold, you throw us something like that and bring it right back up to the surface again." He tilted the bottle in Peter's direction. "Nice to know you're consistent."

"Thank you...?"

Max lifted his head and threw a glare in the teen's direction. "How long's that gonna take?"

Peter once again gave a shrug of his shoulders, body twitching as bouts of uncomfortableness seemed to shiver up his spine, making him want to squirm underneath the man's scrutinizing looks. Max could sometimes be just as bad as his father. Perhaps that was why he was Peter's least favorite by means of the Cons. Of course, such a title wasn't really anything impressive considering the thugs all held similar places of resentment in Peter's heart.

"I...I don't know. They vary, you know? C-could be a while...I guess." He tapered off, too nervous to continue lest he say something wrong. Chances of that were high whenever Max was in a bad mood.

The dark-skinned man curled his lip in disgust before glaring back down at the papers, roughly picking up a pen once more. "Get out of here, then. Go bother some other idiots for a change."

"Hey!" Sandra and Curt called from their seats. Max ignored them as he continued to scribble down notes on the papers. Richard had yet to look up, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Peter's eyes drifted over to his father's huge form. Even sitting down, the man was startlingly large, with broad shoulders and defined muscles that revealed themselves even through the refined fit of the dress shirt he currently wore. Swallowing thickly, Peter turned and glanced over at the stairs that led down to the bottom floor of their building. However, he made no move towards them.

An itching feeling in the back of his mind had the teen pausing, eyes lingering back over to his father, whose head was currently being held up with one hand as he used the other to scrawl on the pages of the work before him, dark eyes hard and narrowed.

Peter could practically _see_ his heart attempting to burst from his chest as he took a small step closer to the others, the thrumming in his ears so loud, he was surprised it didn't shake the entire house. Sweat began to leak through the skin of his palms as he nervously clenched and unclenched his fists against the fabric of his pants, toes curling inside his shoes as he grimaced ever so slightly.

Practically every nerve n his body screamed at him to get out of there. To take the free ticket Max had offered him and book it before Sandra and Curt got any drunker and began to mess with him, before Max's mood shifted and he decided to take it out on Peter, before his father _let_ them.

And yet, the image of an empty seat sitting in an otherwise full gymnasium kept him rooted to the spot, the sounds of Flash's jeers and the pitying looks of his teammates culminating in his chest and freezing him where he stood.

It was then that Max lifted his eyes and noticed the teen was still there. He narrowed his eyes and glared. "The hell you still doin' here?"

Peter felt his mouth opening before he had any time to think better of it, which meant before he had any time to come up with an answer. "I...I-I uh...I was just wond...wondering if...if um...I mean, I'd assume you're busy but I...I uh..."

It was then Richard Parker lifted his head and closed his eyes with a loud inhale through the nose. Peter instantly quieted at that, the other Cons glancing over at the man as he set down the pen in his hands and took the glasses off of his face, setting them down onto the table as well. He slowly exhaled before opening his eyes and turning towards Peter.

"What is it?" His voice wasn't necessarily angry. It was just cold...disinterested. Annoyed.

Immediately feeling bubbles of regret floating up through his intestines with the threat of bringing up whatever food he had in his stomach (which wasn't much if he were being honest), Peter licked his lips and clenched the fabric of his jacket _hard_. Staring into his father's eyes made him feel like he was _literally_ pooling into his own shoes, melting away under the intense look.

Nevertheless, he swallowed the bile that loomed in the back of his throat and lifted his gaze. "It's just...at t-the last meet, my teammates were...were asking about...were asking about you and I was...um, I was just wondering if maybe...m-maybe you wanna...come with me?"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out there. But there was no taking them back now.

Silence filled the kitchen, Sandra and Curt staring at them as their bottles lowered, Flint glancing up from his fridge raid and Max watching him with a cocked brow.

Then laughter. Howls of it.

Sandra and Curt doubled over as they practically fell out of their chairs, faces scrunched and red as they gasped and chortled while Flint snorted from his place by the fridge, his loud nasally laugh seemingly making the whole room quiver. Max said nothing, merely sneered before turning back to the papers below him.

But Peter's eyes weren't on them. They were on his father, whose face had yet to emote any sort of emotion. They just continued to stare at each other, seemingly locked in a battle of wills that Peter found he couldn't look away from. Despite the shrill shrieks of laughter, the sounds of pens scribbling on paper or the clinking _chink_ of a bottle cap popping off the top as Flint finally slammed the fridge door shut, Peter could do nothing but _stare_ into his father's eyes, so deep and brown they were more black than anything else.

However, all noises instantly quieted as the harsh sound of Richard's chair scooting against the wooden floor screeched through the air. Slowly, quietly, the man lifted himself out of the seat, Peter instantly taking a step back as the man moved forward, seemingly before him within a footstep.

Peter had been wrong before. _Now_ he wanted to melt into his shoes.

Expecting a smack, a punch, _something_ , the teen braced himself for a blow of some sort, any type of punishment for stepping out of line. That made it all the more surprising, then, when his father reached behind the teen and grabbed a folder that had been sitting on the counter behind him. Peter released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as his father flipped open the folder and glanced down at it, never even looking at the boy as he spoke.

"What do you tell them?"

_What?_

"What?"

"Your teammates. What do you tell them about me not being there?"

"Oh...I...I usually just tell them that you're...that you're working late or s-something..."

The man loudly shut the folder with a resounding _slap_ as he narrowed his eyes and stared at his son. "Then why the _fuck_ are you bothering me with this?"

And there it was.

Peter cringed under the man's harsh tone, seemingly curling in on himself as he shrank back. "I...I-I was just...j-just..."

The man paused and pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, seeming to take a breath. He licked his lips and glanced down at the papers below. "Peter...you know you're important to me, right?"

That's... _not_ what he'd been expecting. Unsure of how he should respond, the boy decided not to. Richard didn't seem to mind, for he continued anyway. "You are important to me because you're important to my research." He stated, folding his arms behind his back as he turned to stare down at the boy. "And my research means _everything_ to me...meaning you, by extension, mean very much to me as well."

The room instantly seemed to darken as the man narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. "But do you see us doing research right now?"

A tight lump began to form in the boy's throat. "No..." He whispered almost inaudibly. His father picked up on it, however.

"No. We aren't." He growled, lifting himself back up. "We _aren't_ working meaning you _aren't_ of use to me meaning doing such things would be a _complete_ waste of time and you **know** how I feel about wasting my time!" The man snarled as he turned back to the table, slapping the file down onto the surface, the papers already there fluttering slightly at the small breeze.

Peter instantly took a step back as Richard's temper flared for just a brief second before the man shut his eyes and seemed to flip a switch, instantly reverting back to normal, his voice so calm it made Peter's skin crawl. "So...why on _Earth_ would you ask me such a question _?"_

Okay, on second thought, perhaps he would have preferred the slap.

The man shook his head and blew out another breath, Peter resisting the urge to hightail it out of there before the man could speak once more. However, he rooted himself in and cautiously lifted his head as he watched the man lean back down into his seat, perching his glasses back atop his nose. "I have business I need to attend to upstate. I'll be back on Thursday." He turned to look over at his son. "You have till then to get yourself in order. I don't want to hear any more stupid questions leaving your mouth after this."

He narrowed his eyes. Peter was sure a plant behind him burst into flames. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." Crystal.

"I'd better be. Now get out of here before you _really_ piss me off."

He didn't need to be told twice. He ignored the snickers of the Cons that followed him down the stairs, feeling them bounce off the door as he slammed it behind him. A deep breath deflated out of him as he leaned up against the front door to the building, eyes shutting as he leaned his head against the smooth surface.

In all honesty, that went better than expected.

Gently fluttering his eyes open, Peter took in the sight of the quiet street before him. Only a few cars lay parked on the road, the sidewalks empty of any and all joggers, walkers or anything else of the sort. His street was always pretty quiet. Or maybe it was just around his house.

The neighbors always _did_ try to avoid them.

Slowly stepping down the few steps leading up to the front door, Peter stopped and crouched down on the last one, sitting up against the railing as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It would still be a couple of minutes before Ned came to pick him up.

Shoving his phone away, Peter ran a hand through his now-dry hair and let out a tired sigh. He could still feel his heart pounding from his previous conversation, the pulse beats slowly dimming down as he tried to take a couple of deep breaths.

Bad idea. Bad idea had practically been written all over it. The teen shook his head and glanced down at the cracked concrete below his feet. "God...such an idiot." He murmured under his breath.

And he was. Plain and simple. There was no other way to explain it. He was, in fact, just a _huge idiot._

His father only ever took interest in him when the topic of his DNA was on the table. In the lab, under the microscope, during training, Richard Parker's eyes were always trained on _him._ Down there...Peter was important, Peter was coveted...because Peter was the key.

But away from the lab, out in the real world, the real world with families and parent-teacher conferences and birthdays and holidays and just about anything and everything that made up what a _real_ father-son relationship looked like...Peter Parker meant nothing, and his father had no qualms about making it known.

Somewhere in his head, Peter knew this. He'd known this ever since he was four years old and his little hand had remained without another to hold at his mother's funeral. He'd known this ever since teachers stopped asking him about when his father would be available for conferences. He'd known this ever since the Cons entered his life and ultimately made it ten times worse.

Somewhere in there, in the amalgamation of ideas, nerves, and thoughts that constantly circulated through his mind, Peter _knew_ this.

And yet...in that sea of noise, Peter couldn't help but be hit with wave after wave of hesitation, the water slamming into him like a slap to the face, knocking the breath from his lungs. It came in the form of memories. Memories of Peter sitting at his father's feet while he worked, of helping him in the lab as they went over Peter's unique DNA structure, of his father telling him that one day, Peter would be _incredibly_ important in helping the human race thrive.

_("We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...")_

With every reminder of who his father was becoming, Peter was slapped by the waves, the distant crashing of memories he refused to let go of. The water was just too strong. The current wouldn't let him go.

He was trapped. And he was drowning.

A loud roaring filled his ears, the familiar deep-throated growl of an expensive car's engine. Peter's eyes instantly flung open as he leaned forward on the concrete step, craning his neck as his eyes strained to catch a glimpse of a sleek expensive car with one very grumpy driver at the wheel, putting an ironic twist on his _"Happy_ " name.

However, Peter visibly deflated as he watched one of the _neighbor's_ cars pass him by, the wind it stirred up making his hair lick his cheeks as it blew past him. _Get a grip, Parker. He isn't coming._ He growled at himself.

It wasn't that he was surprised. Peter had known from the _second_ it'd left his mouth that inviting Mr. Stark to his Decathlon meet had been a very big _stretch_. With everything the man was dealing with - the Accords, government officials, the media, the Rogue Avengers - it was a miracle that Mr. Stark even had time to _see_ him on a weekly basis.

Peter was just grateful for that, for the opportunity to see the man on a regular schedule. So he'd been a hundred percent prepared for the man to decline his offer, to say on no uncertain terms that such a thing was _way_ below his standards.

Therefore, Peter shouldn't have been upset that Mr. Stark wasn't coming today. He _should_ have been prepared for it, just like before. Last week during their impromptu pizza night, Mr. Stark had made it abundantly clear that laying low and keeping out of the public eye was in everybody's best interest. The man was right. The man made sense. He wasn't trying to make Peter feel bad. If anything, he was trying to _help_ him.

So why did it still feel so...bad?

In the back of his head, the image of an empty chair in a filled auditorium made his fingers twitch against his sides once more.

No, Peter _wasn't_ surprised...and _that's_ what made him feel so disappointed. Because in the months that he'd known Mr. Stark, in the talks that they'd held, the connections they'd developed, the bond they'd created...Mr. Stark _always_ surprised him.

He surprised him in the way that he genuinely seemed happy to see him. He surprised him in the way that he made him laugh and giggle and smile in ways he hadn't for _years._ He surprised him in the way that he actually seemed... _interested_ in his dorky intern.

_(We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...)_

So, no. Peter wasn't surprised. And perhaps _that_ was what surprised him the most.

Before the teen could dwell on the subject anymore, the sound of a car horn snapped in his ears, making him jolt in his seat. He whipped his head up and felt a smile crawl onto his face as a large blue minivan pulled up along the curb. The back window rolled down, Ned popping his head out as the large boy beamed. "Guess who's got the latest issue of Super Mario Party and is gonna play it all the way to the convention center?"

"No way! When'd you get that?!"

"This is no time for questions!" The teen shouted as Peter opened the door and Ned forcefully shoved the bright red controller into his hands, adjusting the miniature screen so that they both could see. "We have a tournament afoot and nothing says mental preparation like beating Mario's ass around a Star Map."

"Language." Mrs. Leeds called from the front seat, shaking her head with a smile as she turned around. "How are you, Peter?"

The teen gave her a smile in return. "Apparently about to get savagely beaten in the span of thirty minutes." He said as he waved the controller around in his hand, the woman chuckling before turning back around in her seat.

"You guys are such dorks." Peter blinked before craning his neck to see Ned's sister in the passenger seat in front of him, the eleven-year-old twisting in her seat to gaze at them with disdain Peter didn't know an eleven-year-old could possess.

Ned glared at her. "Shut up, Kayla."

"You shut up, nerd."

"We are _not_ doing this for the next half-hour you two." Mrs. Leeds said with an air of exasperation that made Peter think such a thing happened often, which - considering he'd known Ned for years- he knew it did. "Kayla, stop bothering your brother."

"I'm just saying. You made a nerd, mom. Really dropped the ball there."

The woman pursed her lips, Peter guessing she would have pinched the bridge of her nose had she not had both hands on the wheel. Ned rolled his eyes and Peter let out a laugh before the other boy was nudging him in the shoulder.

"Whatever. Forget about her. All you need to know is we have thirty free minutes and a game to beat."

"Show me what you got, Leeds."

"Bring it, Parker."

. . . .

"Shit, I wanted to be Yoshi."

**. . . . .**

Thirty minutes and one heated Mario Party game later found the group stepping out of the car and walking in through the front doors of the convention center. Having been cleaned up and organized for the school function, bakery booths and drink sales were lined up in make-shift tables along the walls, banners and streamers hanging from the ceiling, both in their respective school's colors: Midtown's yellow and blue and George St Luke's green and white.

"Alright. I'll see you two inside. I need to buy Kayla some snacks to keep her preoccupied through this." Mrs. Leeds said with a roll of her eyes before pinching Ned's cheeks. Said boy whined and pulled away, pushing Peter towards the auditorium doors while the other boy waved goodbye to the older woman.

Stepping in through the doors, they were instantly greeted to the sound of numerous voices all overlapping each other, people either sitting down in their seats or walking along the aisles talking to others.

"Man, Decathlon's really heating up this season. I don't think there's _ever_ been this many people." Ned breathed from beside his friend with a large smile. Peter scanned the crowd, taking in the different faces, voices, smells. He took a few deep breaths to ground himself, feeling his heart pound just a little faster than before.

As the two teens walked along the far aisle closest to the wall, they approached the curtain that led them backstage, whipping it back as they stepped in the dimly lit area.

Quickly spotting the other members of their team, the two fell in line as MJ scanned her eyes over them. "About time you two showed up." She muttered, Ned shrugging his shoulders. "We aren't even _late._ We're ten minutes _early_."

"Next time, make it fifteen."

The boy rolled his eyes but said nothing as the other members of their team nudged their hellos with winks and quick smiles. Both Peter and Ned returned them, neither of them noticing Flash in the back, his arms folded and his face pulled back into a disapproving sneer.

MJ cleared her throat and began to speak to the team. "Alright, people. This is it. We've been preparing for this meet for the past month and I expect it to show out there."

Mr. Harrington walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder before glancing at the kids before him. "Just do the best that you can, guys. You'll do great!"

MJ threw him a look before turning back to the group. "Losing is _not_ an option."

"But...it's okay if you do. I'm still proud of you guys anyway."

"Earn my pride. Win this thing."

"Okay...well..."

The team members glanced back and forth between the teacher and the girl, eyes darting left and right. Peter could still hear them talking in the back of his head, but his eyes drifted away from her and over towards the black curtain separating them from the audience. The curtain was peeled back just enough that a crack was visible among the dark fabric.

Through the crack, Peter could see the audience as more and more people sat down to find their seats. In the front few rows, each and every chair was reserved for a specified number of family members. One one side of the auditorium, green name cards sat for the family members of the other team while light blue cards sat on the chairs for Midtown.

He could make out several familiar faces, faces he saw every time there was a meet. Ned's mom and little sister, Cindy's dad, Charlie's parents, Abe's siblings, even Flash's butler. As his eyes continued to drift, he could make out May sitting in her usual seat, rummaging through her bag as she pulled out a bag of almonds she'd smuggled in through the doors, completely ignoring the rule that no food other than stuff bought _at_ the complex was allowed.

May _always_ smuggled in food. She lifted her gaze as she snuck an almond into her mouth, her eyes suddenly reaching Peter's. She did a double-tack just to make sure it was him before giving him a little wave and placing one finger over her mouth as she gingerly held up the bag of almonds and shook it for him to see.

Peter smiled and shook his head in return, only for his eyes to drift to the seat next to May. The usual name it always displayed sat and stared back at him, only this time, it was crossed out with permanent marker and a new name was written underneath it, just large enough for Peter to make out.

His stomach churned slightly at the sight of it.

Feeling a gentle nudge sway him just a bit, Peter turned and saw that Ned was now standing next to him, watching the crowd as well. Behind them, MJ's "motivational" speech had finished and the other teammates were milling about backstage either glancing over flashcards one last time or chatting amongst themselves.

Ned gestured with his head towards the empty chair. "You think he's gonna show? Cause, not gonna lie, I think I would die. Right there. On the stage. Just...dead."

Peter stared at the chair for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "Well, I think you're safe for tonight, Ned. With all the media buzz that's been going around, he's probably gonna wanna keep a low profile. Besides, the last place he'd want to go to tonight would be some lame Decathlon tournament."

Ned didn't seem so convinced. "Well, he didn't outright say ' _no'_ when you asked him the first time so he obviously hasn't _totally_ dissed it."

"Or he was just being nice."

"Nah. I'm sensing no dissing."

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, Ned nudging him again in the shoulder with a small smirk. However, both boys let out surprised grunts as they felt arms loop around their necks. "Gotta say, Penis. You're really going _all out_ with this little charade of yours but I mean..." Flash glanced over towards the empty chair. "This is getting a little sad." He threw the boy a mock pout.

Peter ducked underneath the teen's arm while Ned threw it off a bit more forcefully. The loud jeering had caught the attention of the other Decathlon members, who were now glancing their way. Noticing their looks, Peter ducked his head slightly and lowered his voice. "What do you care, Flash?" He muttered.

"I'm just saying. If your own dad didn't wanna come to this thing, then what makes you think _Tony Stark_ is a better option?" He smirked as he folded his arms over his chest. "It's pathetic, Parker. _You're_ pathetic."

"I'll tell you what's pathetic. Having your butler sit in for your parents at a Decathlon meet you aren't even participating in." MJ said in her usual deadpanned tone of voice as she smoothly strode over, the other members of the team drifting closer as well. Flash clenched his fists and rounded on the girl. "My parents have jobs they need to worry about. They'd be here if they could." He growled out before rounding on Peter once more, desperate to get the attention off of him. "Not like you can say the same 'bout Peter's dad."

Cindy cocked a brow. "Peter's dad is one of the biggest manufacturing giants in the entire city. I'm pretty sure that counts as an important job."

"Whatever." Flash jeered. "Puny Parker just can't handle the fact that his dad's embarrassed by him, so he decided to throw in a last-ditch effort to make himself look worthwhile by pretending Tony Stark might actually come to his Decathlon match" He leaned closer to the boy, Peter narrowing his eyes and averting his gaze. "As if, loser."

The small spark of fire that Peter had felt back during their practices at school did not reignite at the boy's words. For it was hard to gain a sense of indignation when Peter knew he was right.

Mr. Stark wasn't coming. Flash was right. ( _Told you this was a bad idea, idiot.)_

However, Ned didn't seem as ready to let it go as Peter was, for the teen bunched up his fists and got right back in Flash's face. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Flash. There are pictures going around the whole city of Peter and Tony Stark together." He scoffed before folding his arms. "It's everywhere."

Flash scoffed and waved a hand at that. "As if. Those pictures are just of Tony Stark hanging out with some kid. There's no way that's Penis in those pics. You're just as delusional as your friend, Leeds."

Ned gritted his teeth and glanced over towards the other team members for some sort of backup, only to deflate as he caught sight of their doubtful looks. None of them would ever say anything outright, but it was obvious they weren't convinced of Peter's supposed relationship with Stark.

Flash seemed to notice that things were shifting in his favor as he let a victorious grin slid onto his face before he leaned closer to Peter. "What's the matter, Parker? Got nothing to say?"

Nobody said anything as all eyes slid to Peter. Ned threw his friend an apologetic look, while MJ's remained as passive and neutral as ever. Peter's eyes remained locked on the ground by his feet. as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "No."

MJ narrowed her eyes and looked away at that while Ned turned to glare at Flash once more. "That's what I thought." The teen scoffed as he pushed past Peter and made his way over towards the chairs lined along the backstage wall. "Good luck, loser. You're gonna need it."

The other Decathlon members said nothing, shifting uncomfortably as they kept their eyes averted before walking away to hover by the front curtains. MJ stalled for a moment, throwing her gaze over towards Flash before turning back to the two boys. "Match starts in a few minutes. Make sure you're ready." She said before walking over towards the others.

Ned glared at her as she left before turning back to Peter. "Don't let him get to you, man. He's just a jackass." He said as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Peter blinked down at the ground for a moment before turning to gaze at his friend.

_(_ _We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me..._ _)_

He might not have had his father. He might not have had Mr. Stark. And he might not have had the support of his classmates. But as he gazed at his friend's shining eyes and his bright beaming smile that always made his cheeks look even bigger than they already were, Peter could honestly say that at that moment, he didn't even care.

He had Ned. And that was good enough for him.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." He nudged the boy back. "Thanks, Ned."

_" **If both teams would please make their way to the starting tables. The match will begin in five**_ **minutes."**

"Don't mention it, man. Now...let's go kick some nerdy butts."

"Ned... _we're_ nerds."

" _Exactly!_ And let's make sure they don't forget it!"

* * *

**Saturday - April 16, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Business Room 1**

**06:20 p.m.**

"So...was there any point to this little chat other than for you to yell at us, or- to be more specific- _me?"_

" _Tony-"_

"No, I feel like it's a valid question," the billionaire muttered, glancing back towards Rhodey before turning to stare at the holograms before him once more. "You even got your little goon squad to come and make an appearance. Really, I'm touched," he scoffed, throwing Ross an unimpressed look.

In reality, only three people actually physically _stood_ in the room, those being Pepper, Rhodey and Tony himself. The other four they were currently staring at were merely holograms, including two older men, a woman and Ross. Tony didn't know the names of the others. He was sure they'd told him before but he hadn't bothered to remember them.

"Mr. Stark," the woman began. "We are only here to discuss the strategy and outcome of apprehending the rest of your team-"

" _Ex-_ team."

She sighed. "- _Ex-_ team in order to ensure they do not cause any more damages to the city or those surround it and to protect the lives they would inevitably be placing in danger," She said, eyes narrowing as her pointed face lowered, gaze piercing through overtop the rim of her glasses.

Pepper furrowed her brow and stepped forward, tied-back hair swishing as she moved. "I'm sorry, but haven't they been pretty quiet since they disappeared?"

"For now," Ross interjected from his seat on the end. "But it's only a matter of time before they do something catastrophic."

"Catastrophic?" The woman echoed, shaking her head with a scoff. "Don't we seem to be exaggerating this just a little?"

Tony scoffed and stood up from where he'd been sitting on the corner of his desk, turning his back on the projections as he reached over towards the bottle of scotch sitting in a glass dish. "So basically, you're just gonna sit there on your asses and twiddle your thumbs hoping for them to blow up a city block or derail a subway train so you can finally make your move and hop on out there with your butterfly nets?" He poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and turned back around, swishing it around for a moment before taking a sip. "Gotta say, not a great plan from where I'm standing."

One of the holographic men straightened out his jacket. "Things would go much smoother if you were to assist us."

Tony lifted a finger away from the glass and pointed it towards the projection. "Nuh-uh. See that's not gonna happen. You know why?"

The other man shook his head and lifted a hand in exasperation. "Do enlighten us, Mr. Stark."

The billionaire took a step closer. "Cause while you all are running around New York City playing a nation-wide game of Where's Waldo with a who's who list of the FBI's most wanted, _I'm_ trying to forget about them. No, better yet. _I'm_ trying to shape up the Accords. You know...the job _you_ should be doing?"

Ross narrowed his eyes and sneered, the look reflecting perfectly through the pixels. "The Accords are perfect the way they are," he snapped, failing to notice the sidelong glances the other senators threw his way.

"The Accords are a ticking time bomb created with a chemical combination of paranoia, fear, and bruised feelings," Rhodey muttered from where he stood with his arms folded along the back wall. Tony turned and lifted his glass to the man, Rhodes rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the gesture.

Nevertheless, the Secretary didn't back down. "Last I checked, your signatures were on those papers."

"Yeah, cause it was either a pen or a prison cell," Tony growled, taking another swig of his drink before setting it down on the table and letting out a small sigh, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose as he suddenly began to feel how much two hours of sleep could mess you up.

"Look," he started softly, dropping his hand again as he stared down the senators. "I understand what you're trying to do, what the _Accords_ are trying to do. And I still believe that we need something like those Accords. Something to hold us and people like us accountable. But the Accords that we have right now are associated with the disbandment of the most recognizable group of superheroes out there."

Ross let out a small chuckle. "I wouldn't hold yourself on too high of a pedestal, Stark."

A flare of heat ignited in the billionaire. _This prick_... "Okay, you know what-!"

Before he could say anything though, Rhodey was grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him back, grip on his wrist tight and grounding. Tony glared up at his friend, only for Rhodey to stand his ground. It was hard to miss the bags under the billionaire's eyes or the deepening wrinkles on his face, letting the colonel know just how close to the end of his rope his friend was.

Still...pissing off Ross was the last thing any of them needed. The look he shot Tony said it all, the billionaire taking another second to glare at the ground before shutting his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, releasing it again after a moment before twisting back around on his heel.

Ross opened his mouth once more and with the look on his face, it wasn't going to be anything good leaving his mouth. Thankfully, Tony noticed this and shot off right away. "I'm not excusing them," he started, effectively cutting the man off. "Not even a little bit. But no new superheroes are gonna want to sign something they associate with the Avengers breaking up," he said.

The senators glanced over at each other before seeming to individually mull over what the billionaire was saying. Ross glared over at them but said nothing either.

"So no. I'm _not_ gonna help you find those assholes. I'm not going to _stop_ you, that's for sure. You can do whatever you want. Chase them, jail them, heck, you can blow them into last year and I won't care," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "It's the least they deserve." His tone shifted at that, both Rhodey and Pepper sharing looks behind his back.

"But I'm not going to help. cause I'm dealing with something bigger here. Something that will _hopefully_ prevent this in the future. Cause right now, the Accords are _shit._ At best, those things are in Stage 1 of what will no doubt be a long and grueling process that I have the benefit of looking forward to."

Once more he turned to the glass on the table and lifted it into the air. "So...if we're done here, I have your job to do," he toasted with a smirk before taking another sip.

The three senators all displayed varying looks of uncomfortableness, frustration, uncertainty, or a combination of all three. They shared looks with one another before the woman spoke up once more. "That is all, Mr. Stark," she said, removing the glasses from her face. "But this conversation isn't over. And you can rest assured we will be discussing this further, especially next week when Mr. Secretary accompanies us to visit your Tower."

"Joy." The man deadpanned with a cock of his eyebrows and another swig of his drink.

Rhodey nudged the man once more before turning towards the projections. "We'll see you then."

With that, the projections slowly began to fade down into the floor, the glass cases physically displaying the images sinking into their respective slots. However, the person Tony wanted gone the most had elected to extend his chat.

"So you don't know where they are?" Something about his tone of voice made the billionaire suspect Ross already believed he knew the answer. Nevertheless, Tony would sooner die before giving the man any sort of satisfaction. "You know, they do say hearing loss is a side effect of old age so don't feel too bad about it."

"Tony." Rhodey sighed, a hint of warning in his tone.

Ross, however, was not fazed by the jab. "Cut the crap, Stark. I know you could find them if you wanted to." The man accused, face scrunching slightly as his eyes narrowed.

Tony rolled his eyes and set the glass down, folding his arms. "1) they have more than one capable super-spy who I'm pretty sure need to take basic classes in how to stay off the grid if they wanna graduate from whatever assassins university they come from. 2) And this is a big one... _I don't care._ **"**

Behind him, Tony could practically _feel_ Pepper and Rhodey throwing him exasperated, agitated looks. Ross, on the other hand, didn't seem all too fazed. In fact, a smirk was beginning to spread across his lips, a look that made Tony wanna figure out the math on how to slap a holographic projection.

"You will," Ross scoffed from his seat in whatever cave he usually crawled to whenever he wasn't trying to blast Tony's ass off. "Once they start to wreak havoc on this city, you'll wish you'd helped us."

He rose up from his chair and folded his arms behind his back, eyes growing darker if such a thing were possible. "Those people are dangerous. They're a menace to the nation and to this government and they must be stopped by whatever means necessary."

The two men locked eyes with each other, neither saying anything for a moment as their gazes held tight, an internal battle of wills as they stared each other down. Tony could feel his hands clenching and unclenching around his arms from where they were crossed over his chest. _To hell with this asshole._

"Well, whatever means those happen to be...you won't be getting them here." His voice was low. Dangerous.

Ross lifted his chin at that and straightened out his jacket. "We'll see." With that, the projection began to fade, Tony's eyes never leaving the glass as he watched each and every particle dissipate.

"I guess we will, won't we?"

As soon as the glass disappeared in its slot with the others, Tony twisted around on his heel and let out a haggard sigh, dropping down into the chair behind his desk. "Jesus Christ. I need a Popsicle."

Pepper walked over, patting the man on the shoulder as Rhodey rubbed the back of his neck. "One week, huh?" the woman sighed. "Guess we're gonna have to Ross-proof this place."

Tony shook his head. "How do we do that? Put Avengers merchandise on all the walls of this place? Cause I'm pretty sure I have some Hawkeye mugs and a couple of Captain America bobbleheads that we can put on the desks down in the offices."

The others smirked at that, a new voice cutting through the space. "Captain America bobbleheads? Now those I gotta see."

All three of them turned around and whipped their heads towards the doorway, Natasha leaning casually against the frame with a smirk spreading across her lips. Tony blew out a breath and placed a hand to his heart. "Fucking...god, Romanoff. What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, trying and failing to get his heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.

"Don't you have some government assholes you should be avoiding?" Rhodey asked with a cocked brow as he watched the woman walk further into the room. "I feel like it's probably _not_ the best idea to come over here when we're literally _video-chatting_ the very people who wanna put your head on a spike and pin it outside the capital building."

The woman didn't seem all that fazed by the graphic imagery as she shrugged her shoulders. "What can I say? I'm a spy. I like to have all the information," she said as she took a seat at the conference table, propping her feet up onto the surface.

"Right. So you're here to know what _he_ knows." Tony muttered from his chair, one fist propped up against his cheek as he glared lazily at the other woman.

Said woman either didn't notice the look or - the more believable option - she just didn't care to respond to it. "And right now, he knows nothing."

"Mm-hmmm."

Pepper and Rhodey once again shared knowing looks before Pepper blew a somewhat amused huff from her lips, patting the side of Tony's cheek. "Well...we'll just leave you guys to it."

Tony straightened up at that, throwing the others incredulous looks. "Hold up. What? You're abandoning me with her?" He asked, gesturing wildly at the woman who still hadn't moved from her relaxed position. If anything, she simply raised a brow at the comment.

"You want that Popsicle or not?" Rhodey muttered.

"...I _do_ want that Popsicle."

Rhodey smirked as both he and Pepper moved towards the exit. "Then have fun. Now stop complaining or I'll bring you back a grape-flavored one."

And with that, the two left and both Tony and Natasha were alone. For a moment, Tony said nothing, simply content with glaring after his two retreating friends before he let out an annoyed sigh and dropped his head, swiveling his chair so that he was now facing Natasha. After a second, he lifted his gaze and threw the woman a disgruntled look. "What?" he asked with a grunt.

Natasha seemed to pick up on the subtext behind the word as she gave another small shrug of her shoulders. "Nothing. Just checking up on you."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed as he stood up once more and reached over towards the now-empty glass, pouring himself another drink. "Save the spiel. You're just here to make sure your asses are still covered." He lifted the glass and gestured it in her direction.

"I'm multitasking."

Tony huffed, bringing the glass to his lips. "Yeah, you're great at that."

Natasha watched him swig down a gulp of the liquid, Tony purposefully avoiding looking at her so he didn't have to see whatever expression she was making at the action. After a moment of silence where Tony sat down on the corner of the desk and placed the glass next to him, Natasha removed her feet from the top of the table and leaned forward in her chair. "How are you?" she asked quietly.

"Aside from the large Ross-shaped tumor growing on the side of my head...pretty damn good I must say."

The woman stood up and began to mill about the room, glancing at files and papers strewn about the tables. "You getting enough sleep?" she asked, purposefully avoiding the man's gaze.

Tony tapped his fingers against the glass, familiar burn of annoyance flaring in his chest at the question. "Don't see what that has to do with anything," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the assassin. Did she really think he didn't know what she was trying to do?

She gave a curt nod of her head, picking up one of the nearby files as she opened it up and began to flip through the pages, once again avoiding the man's gaze. "And you're still drinking-"

"Natasha!" Tony snapped, slamming the glass down onto the table, the woman stoically lifting up her head. "If you're just gonna stand there and criticize me like your little war criminal buddies _love_ to do so fucking much, then there's the door," he growled.

The woman set the papers down and took a step closer. The man scoffed and turned his head away as the woman rested a hand on his shoulder. She didn't wanna say it hurt when she felt him tense underneath her fingers. But it did. "I'm just worried about you, Tony."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers for a moment before shrugging out of her grasp and standing up, walking past her. "Well don't be. I got plenty of people who are actually _around_ for that, thanks," he said, grabbing the papers and files that Natasha had been looking at before, stacking them into piles on the conference table. He stopped moving for a second, eyes glaring down at the polished surface for a moment before he started back up again, tone slightly different.

"You'd better stay away from the tower next week. It'll look bad for me if Ross sees you in your pajamas strolling around the kitchen with a smoothie and bunny slippers." He said offhandedly, shrugging past the woman with files in hand, but Natasha noticed the hint of genuine concern lacing the words.

She let a small smile form on her face. "I'll be sure to take that into consideration."

Tony glanced back at her before huffing and continuing to put the files away into the cabinet. "Just...don't make things any more difficult for me than they already are. I know how much you guys _love_ to do that so if you could resist the gleeful urges you must get...I'd appreciate it."

He closed up the cabinet door and plopped back into his chair with a loud sigh, twisting it around so that he could look at her once more. "Now, was that all or did you have any other annoying little topics you wanted to run by me?" he muttered.

With that, Natasha felt her stomach twist ever so slightly. It wasn't that she was nervous. Just that she knew this conversation could quickly take a turn for the worst with what she was about to bring up. Still, it needed to be said. She needed to know.

Tony noticed a slight shift in the woman's posture, her usual confident stance deflating ever so slightly. It was almost unnoticeable, as he was sure the woman wanted it to be. But the man was used to dealing with his micro-mannerisms enough to pick up on when others were doing the same thing. He felt his stomach twist slightly at that, but opted to settle it instead of just leaving the room entirely as he probably should have done.

"No, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Hearing her put it into words, the man stared at her for a moment before letting out another sigh and lifting his hand, gesturing for her to continue.

The woman hesitated for just a moment before speaking up once again. "I wanted to talk to you about Spider-Man."

Instantly, Tony had to fight to keep his face passive, his fists quickly tightening their hold on the arms of his chair as a shiver ran up his spine. He was sure Natasha had picked up on the slight changes, but if she did, she didn't mention it. "What about him," he responded, noticing his tone was a bit colder than before.

Natasha leaned up on the corner of the conference table, arms stretched out beside her as her palms lay flat on the smooth surface. "I just wanted to see how much you actually know about him. I mean, I know you recruited him and all that, but that's as far as my information goes."

 _And that's how I like it._ Tony thought to himself, having to physically bite his tongue to keep from spitting it in the assassin's face. He knew she'd already had an encounter with Spider-Man back in Germany. And he also knew she _now_ liked to see Peter whenever they were both at the Tower. However, that didn't mean Tony was just going to open the door for her to sidle up next to _both_ of them.

Tony knew Nat. He knew what she could do. And if she spent any more time around Spider-Man, then it wouldn't take long for her to figure out the secret between him and Peter; that they were one and the same. And if _Peter_ found out that the reason she knew was cause _Tony_ hadn't done enough to stop her...well, the billionaire wasn't about to let this backstabbing double-agent mess up what he was trying to accomplish here.

If she did that, then she could practically kiss their "friendship" goodbye.

Of course, Tony being the suave little shit-eater that he was didn't let any of this show on his face as he simply twisted and turned in his swivel chair, hands folding over his lap. "Why the sudden interest?" he asked, eyes zeroing in on Natasha's face, ready to pick up on whatever micro-expressions she displayed.

The woman seemed to think about it for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. "No particular reason. I've just seen him swinging around the city sometimes. Wanted to know a little more about him."

 _Yeah, right_. Tony scoffed to himself, quickly feeling that biting resentment for the woman beginning to bubble back into place. "Yeah, well that ain't happening this time. I know you like to have all your little ducks in a row when it comes to smuggling information out of unsuspecting victims but you aren't getting anything here, alright?"

"Do you know his identity?"

"I - are you even paying attention to me, Nat?! I said no. I'm not telling you anything!"

The women put on a small smile, raising her hands up innocently as she smirked at him. Tony clenched his fists at the look. "Alright, alright. If _you_ don't wanna share anything with me, I get it."

However placating the words were _intended_ to be, Tony didn't pick up on any of it. He knew that tone. He knew the meaning _behind_ her words. He knew _her._ He knew what she was gonna try and do and he couldn't let that happen. So with that, the man slowly lifted himself out of the chair and took a steadying breath, pointing a shaky finger in her direction.

"Natasha...I know what you're thinking and you better stop right this fucking second. Don't you even _think_ about looking into him, alright. It's none of your business," he growled out at her.

At that, Natasha's eyes narrowed and her arms folded over her chest. "I think you made it our business when you recruited him to fight in Germany." She shook her head and let out a small scoff." I already know the identities of all the other supers in this city. Why should he be any different? Just cause he's like, your little personal plaything at the moment? Your newest obsession?"

She slapped her arms down in exasperation. "Besides, what the harm of me knowing more anyway? As I said, I already know the identities of the other Supers around and I haven't sent out any kill hits on them yet," she smirked, hoping the look would mask the feelings of hurt that bubbled in her chest at what the man was insinuating. Did he really think she was going to hurt Spider-Man?

However, Tony wasn't about to budge. Not on this. Not with Peter.

"Nat...listen to me. You _cannot_ go looking into him, alright?"

"Why not?" she grunted, Tony realizing she wouldn't let it go unless he gave her an actual reason.

He balled up his hands and pressed them to his forehead. "Y-you...you just...you just can't alright?!" He shook his head and dropped his hands back onto his hips, sucking in a breath as he tried to find a way to explain himself. But just what was he supposed to say? _Hey, sorry Nat. I can't tell you about this because I promised Spider-Man that I'd protect this secret of his at all costs and I really, really need this kid to trust me for a whole other set of reasons that I won't tell you cause If I'm being honest, I really don't trust you and doubt I ever will again!_

That last thought made him pause for just a second. Did he really believe that? Is that really what he thought? He lifted his gaze and stared back at the woman, Nat seeming to notice the slight change in his eyes as her hardened expression softened ever so slightly as she sighed, lowering her gaze to the ground.

She seemed just as tired of the fighting as he did.

Tony glanced away, eyes narrowing in thought. He didn't know what was going to happen with Nat. To be honest, he didn't know what was going to happen with _any_ of the others, or if he even _wanted_ anything to happen. Still...there was a small part of him that enjoyed seeing the woman, that missed stumbling into the kitchen at 3 in the morning only to have her sitting there too, both victims of early morning insomnia. He missed sitting with her in the silence, neither asking the other if they wanted to talk about it. They never did.

His mind drifted back to when Natasha had first reappeared in the lab a few weeks ago, her words from before ringing out in his ears. " _I know it will take a while. I know it'll be hard. But...I hope with time...you'll be able to forgive me."_

He lifted his gaze back over to her, Nat meeting his stare as well. For a moment, neither of them said anything, eyes scanning each other's faces for any hints as to what they were thinking. Finally, Tony approached.

"Listen, you wanted me to trust you, right?" he started slowly, voice softer than before. "Then do this for me now."

Nat opened her mouth, only for Tony to cut her off with a shake of his head. "Look, I can't explain all of this to you right now, alright? It's just...this guy, Spider-Man...if any more people find out who he is...it isn't like other secret identities. He's not just wearing the mask to separate superhero from normal life. This is a matter of life or death."

"Oh, come on Tony-"

"I'm serious," he stressed, reaching out to grasp onto the woman's shoulders. For a moment, he expected her to rip out of his grasp and knee him in the gut, only for her to widen her eyes and stand rigid. "Listen, Natasha...please. Please don't look into him. Don't try to figure out who he is, don't even _wonder_ who he is. I'm being serious here. This isn't for me. This isn't some little power trip I'm making here. This is for him. This is for his protection." He stared back at her, hoping his desperation was evident enough to get through to her.

"Please...do this for me."

Natasha couldn't say anything for a moment. All she could do was stare back into the man's eyes, which nearly oozed their silent plea. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, the only grounding feel being the grip Tony had on her shoulders. Not painfully tight, but present nonetheless.

Honestly, her reasons for wanting to know more about Spider-Man hadn't been what she'd told Tony as he'd most likely figured out. In actuality, the only reason she wanted to know more about the kid was to observe. And not observe Spider-Man. She wanted to observe Tony.

From the second he'd told her to stay away from him, Natasha had known the Super obviously meant something to the billionaire. Now, what that was, she'd been unsure. After all, was he really just looking out for the kid or was he still just angry at her?

She wanted to know what the kid meant to him. She wanted to know just how important this hero was to Tony. How much the billionaire would do for him. She needed to know just how much of a close eye she'd need to keep on this kid. After all, if he really meant a lot to the billionaire, then she couldn't exactly just let him roam around the city going after thugs and criminals without checking up on him.

But now, seeing just how desperate he looked, just how scared he'd become at the prospect of her using her skills to find out who he was. If she were being honest with herself, it only made her more curious as to who this mystery super was behind the mask. Not just anyone could get Tony Stark to care about them this much. After all, the only other people Tony was _this_ protective over was Pepper, Rhodey and Happy. And maybe that new intern of his.

But Natasha couldn't question the look in the man's eyes, in his face. He obviously wasn't doing this just to fuck with her. He genuinely cared about this...Spider-Man. So that meant she did too.

And that was enough for her.

"Really means that much to you?" It wasn't really a question, but she let it hang out there nonetheless.

Tony stared back at her, dropping his hands. "You have no idea."

The billionaire watched as she sighed and took a step back. "Fine...but I can't say I'll be able to control the others if they get any suspicions."

He shrugged. "That's fine. You're really the one one who might be able to undo the precautions I've already taken to hide his identity," he murmured, thinking back to all the firewalls and viruses he'd created in order to protect any and all information about either Peter Parker or Spider-Man on his servers.

"You flatter me."

Tony scoffed at that and turned away, moving to sit on top of the desk once again, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees as he glanced over at Natasha, suddenly feeling much more tired than before if such a thing were possible. "You'd better get out of here. It won't be safe to hang around for the next couple of days," he murmured.

Natasha couldn't help but smile a bit as she noticed the gentle tones in the man's voice, no malice or snark present. "Yeah, yeah," she said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "I got it." She brushed the hair out of her face and made her way over towards the door, hand gripping the frame as she turned back around. "I'll see you, Tony." She called before walking out into the hallway, a full-blown smile making its way onto her lips as she heard the man's response, low and quiet.

"...sure."

Tony stared after the woman for a moment before sighing and running his hands down his face, letting out a load and tiresome groan as he leaned back and laid down on the surface of his desk, papers fluttering to the ground at the movement, but he didn't really care. God, he was so tired. His talk with Ross had already drained him of whatever energy reserves he'd stored up and Nat had basically siphoned off whatever extra he'd had.

However, no matter how tired he felt, the man knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He'd crawl into bed, stare up at the ceiling and end up in the lab after ten minutes, wasting the rest of the night away tinkering on useless inventions. Still, the thought of working alone in the cold lab for the next few hours made his stomach churn again. He couldn't tell why. Usually, tinkering was the best for his insomnia, but today he didn't seem...in the mood for it.

Still, that left him with the rest of the night to fill with...something. Something to keep his mind busy and occupied.

He blew out a breath and turned his head, glancing over at the clock on the wall. It only took a moment to trace the two hands and read the time, the man blinking up at the ticking mechanism before he slowly lifted himself back into a sitting position. He narrowed his eyes at the clock before lifting his head. "Hey, Fri...today's Saturday, right?"

" _That is correct, boss. Saturday, the 16th."_

Tony said nothing, staring at the clock for a moment longer before a smirk began to spread across his face. Quickly forming up a plan in his head, the man hopped off the desk and grabbed his suit jacket hanging off one of the backs of the chairs, exiting the room and entering the common room next door, where Rhodey, Pepper and Happy were all sitting and talking quietly, each munching on different-colored Popsicles.

Tony walked over and plucked the extra Rhodey was holding out of his hands, discarding of the wrapper before popping it into his mouth. The others glanced over at him and cocked their heads at the mischievous expression morphing onto his face.

This wasn't good.

He pressed the Popsicle into the side of his cheek, picking his sunglasses out of his suit pocket before perching them onto his face. "You guys wanna stretch your legs?"

They each shared confused looks as Tony grinned.

"I know a place..."

* * *

**Saturday - April 16, 2016**

**Upper East Side - Lake Hill Convention Center**

**07:24 p.m.**

" _Which of the following was NOT a major trade route for the African slave exports between 1500 and 1800?"_

_**DING**!_

_"Midtown Tech?"_

"South Africa"

" _Correct."_

Grins were passed around the table as Abe retracted his hand from the button, winking back at his teammates.

For the past hour and a half, both Midtown and George St Luke has been going back and forth, three completed rounds of questions with the fourth and final coming to a close. In the crowd, Peter could make out May sitting on the edge of her seat, biting her nails like she usually did whenever she was nervous and nobody was around to slap her hand away. She looked more nervous than Peter was, to be honest.

Michelle glared over at the others from her seat at the front of the table, the team quickly falling back into their poised positions as more and more questions were thrown their way, the clock before them slowly winding down.

_"The Greek historian who offered valuable insights about Africans in the Nile region's diets was?"_

_**DING**!_

_"George St. Luke?"_

_"_ Herodotus"

" _Correct."_

" _The German author of Philosophy of History that served as a source of Western fantasies about Africa was?"_

_**DING**!_

_"Midtown Tech?"_

_"_ George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel"

" _Correct."_

_"Scenes of violent death dissolve into landscape in the 1993-94 animated drawings of?"_

**_DING_ **

_"George St. Luke?"_

"Nam June Paik"

_"Incorrect. Midtown Tech?_

"William Kentridge"

_"Correct"_

Peter couldn't help but grin as Charles pumped his fist underneath the table, Ned and Sally grinning right along with him right as time was called. All fourteen competitors lifted their heads at the noise, eyes drifting over to the Officiator as she adjusted the microphone attached to the podium in front of her. Adjusting her glasses she leaned closer. "That concludes the fourth portion of the free-response questions. With Midtown leading by five points."

Grins and silent whoops were passed throughout the table as Michelle readied to stand and walk up to the podium, assuming that meant the competition was finished, as it usually was. Four rounds of free-response _was_ the traditional format.

However, all seven of the Midtown students shared confused looks as the woman continued. "However, the judges have elected to add one final portion to the competition this year," she started, confused murmurings drifting throughout _all_ of the students now, including those backstage. The Midtown students glanced towards the curtains where Mr. Harrington was standing, the man's face now considerably paler than before.

Nice to see the confidence was there.

"For this final round, which is worth twenty points, teams will choose one of their own players to represent the entire group. The two players chosen, one from each team, will come up and receive the question. They will not be able to receive any help or hints from their teammates, otherwise ending in an immediate disqualification. Whoever answers the question first and correctly will win." She lifted the glasses from her face and placed them down onto the podium. "Any questions?"

Peter glanced around at his teammates, who were all doing the same. What the heck was _this_ all about? They hadn't been prepared for _this._

The woman nodded. "Very well. The question you'll be answering will be centered around..." she trailed off, gesturing towards the curtain behind her as it lifted up, revealing two blank whiteboards positioned behind each of the team tables. "...mathematics. Choose your player wisely, for you will not be able to switch afterward. You have two minutes to discuss and choose. Clock starts now."

Instantly, Peter reared back in his seat as all of his teammates crowded and leaned towards him. "You gotta do this, Pete!" Sally basically crowed, their noses almost touching.

"What?" he nearly shouted, heart leaping into his throat.

"Yeah, man. You're _dominating_ the Algebra and Calculus questions!" Ned beamed, rising up from his chair. "You're perfect for this!" The others nodded along as they pushed in closer.

"I...I-I.."

"Aw, man. We are _so_ gonna win this thing!" Abe cheered.

Charles grinned and nudged Peter with his shoulder. "Yeah, it's practically in the bag, now. We're gonna have to make room for that big fat trophy!"

The teen felt his heart-rate beginning to quicken as all of their eyes seemed to bore into him. He rose up from his own chair as well and raised his hands in a placating manner. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Cindy is just as good at math as I am! Ned too!" he tried, only for the others to groan and shake their heads in response, _including_ Cindy and Ned.

"Please! I'm not _nearly_ as good as you. You're like, on a whole other level, Pete!" The girl scoffed, Ned nodding along as he stepped closer. "Besides, you know I'm more of a computer/physics kind-of guy. But you're knowledge of this crap is _way_ more extensive than mine. Unless that question was _specifically_ physics-based, I'd be lost up there and you know it! All of us would!"

_"One minute."_

Peter grimaced and took another step back, the others continuing to crowd him nevertheless. "I don't know guys. I mean...what if I mess this up? I might-" he started, only to yelp as he felt something whack him upside the head.

The others quieted down as he turned to face MJ, his face scrunching up in slight indignation as he reached up to rub at the back of his head. "Shut up, nerd. You haven't got a single question wrong all day. You're doing this." she muttered, walking up.

"But-"

She leaned in closer, the others quickly taking a step back out of slight fear. "Your. Doing. This." She said, leaving little room for arguments. Peter felt any and all retorts die in his throat as he let out a small sigh, practically feeling his back bump up against the metaphorical corner he was being pushed into.

Perhaps MJ saw the look of resigned distress crossing the boy's face, for she let out a small breath and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna be fine. You're one of the strongest players _on_ this team. Just do what you've been doing all day up there and we shouldn't have any problems."

Peter lifted his eyes to look at her, taking in a breath as he let a small smile spread onto his face.

"But you'd better win this thing or I'm gonna kill you."

With that, she shoved him hard towards the podium, the teen tripping slightly over the force and slightly over the words. _That wasn't very reassuring._

Still, when MJ said you were gonna do something, there wasn't really any way to get out of it. Swallowing what could have possibly been bile, Peter stole another glance back towards the table, most of his teammates giving him thumbs up (MJ threw him a middle finger), before gulping and walking slowly towards the podium.

It wasn't that Peter wasn't used to his teammates relying on him. After all, they'd been relying on his all day. They relied on him for every meet, every tournament. He knew they trusted him, and for the most part, he was alright with them.

But this...this was a whole other ballpark. Before, Peter had been relying on _them_ just as much as they'd been relying on him. It was a shared burden, a passable load. It was a _team_ , after all. This...this put everything on _him._ No backup, no crutches, no assistance, just him. It was as if his team wasn't even there.

No, actually that would have been better. At least if his team wasn't there, he wouldn't have to worry about letting anybody else down. But now...

HE stole another glance towards his teammates, who were still grinning wide from ear to ear.

Now he had to win this. Not for him, but for them. And the thought of letting them down only made the bile return.

_"Time is up. Would the two chosen contestants please make their way towards the podium."_

_Swallow it. Swallow it now!_ Quickly gulping down the acidic grossness, Peter took another breath and walked over, glancing over at the other kid. It was a girl with short brown hair tied back into a ponytail and thick round glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She was taller than Peter, her green Decathlon jacket bunching up around her elbows.

The low murmuring that had been passing through the crowd during the two-minute deliberation quickly quieted down as the Officiator spoke once more. If the two of you would please make your way over towards your boards, please. There you will find a marker for you to do whatever work you deem necessary."

She paused for a moment to let them both make their way over before continuing. "Also by your sides, you should see a stand with another buzzer on top. When you think you've figured out the answer, buzz in. Whoever buzzes in first with the correct answer wins for their team," she said once again, as if she hadn't just explained the rules five minutes ago.

" _If the two of you are ready..."_

The girl from St Luke gave a firm nod of her head, Peter saying nothing as he continued to stare at the clean white surface of the board, mind seeming to run at a million miles per minute as he milled through all the possible questions they could ask.

He took another breath, forcing himself to stop as he narrowed his eyes and tightened his fists.

This wasn't training. This wasn't fighting or working or even socializing. This was math. Numbers. He knew numbers. He knew how to work numbers. This was what he did. This was what he'd been doing all his life. This was where he thrived, where he found his element, where he was comfortable. This was the one thing he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he could do.

_(We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...)_

This was there he proved his father wrong.

Charles was right. This thing _was_ in the bag.

" _Midtown Tech?"_

"I'm ready."

The woman nodded. " _Alright. The final challenge of the night begins now."_ And with that plus the press of a button, the auditorium projector screen lit up with the image of an equation.

**F(x) =** **-1^(x2) X ln[1** **/(1 + t^2) dt]**

**SOLVE FOR F(x)**

In the back of his head, Peter could head his teammates groaning, whispering about how they hadn't gone over math like that or that a question like this wasn't fair or that nobody could get this or something like that. In all honesty, despite his hearing, Peter didn't really absorb any of it. His eyes were simply glued to the projector screen.

Across from him, the St Luke girl had paled, taking one look at the equation before glancing back at her teammates with a look of panic, which was mirrored in her group as well. She turned back around and stared at the whiteboard before her, shaky hand reaching out for the marker as she began to write the problem out on the board.

As she worked on breaking down the problem, Peter still hadn't moved. He hadn't walked towards the board. He hadn't written anything down. Heck, he hadn't even picked up his marker.

A minute passed of him simply staring up at the equation. A low murmur began to drift through the crowd, people leaning over to ask their neighbors either about the problem, about who they thought was going to win, or about why the boy wasn't even moving.

MJ narrowed her eyes as she stared over at Peter, ignoring her teammates as they spoke.

"Uh...why isn't he moving?"

"I don't know. Maybe he just doesn't know how to set it up."

"He could still write it down or something. Maybe that'll give him something."

"Cut him some slack. None of us could figure that thing out. At least not as fast as they're expecting us to."

"Quiet." Michelle hissed at that, the other quickly quieting as they glanced over at her before moving their eyes back over to Peter.

The girl for George St. Luke continued to write across her board, which was filling up with squiggles, lines, dashes, numbers, and just about anything and everything she could think of. As she moved farther and farther down the board, her numbers seemed to get more and more precise.

The Officiator glanced between the two students with a confused frown and a furrowed brow. Was she missing something here?

St. Luke's girl stopped writing, stepping back from the board with a scrunched face, pressing her hand to her cheek in thought as she stared at her work, shaking her head in confusion.

Peter still hasn't moved.

" _Midtown Tech?"_ The woman called, wondering if the boy simply was stumped. She glanced over towards the boy's teammates, who were all shrugging their shoulders, sans MJ and Ned.

" _Do you forfeit the question?"_

The teen still didn't respond. He didn't even turn around to look at her. She turned back towards St. Luke who was still staring dumbfounded at the messy board. The woman adjusted her glasses once more. "I need an answer, teams."

The young girl let out a groan as she slapped her hands against her thighs and turned around with a disgruntled look of disappointment. "I don't k-"

"F(x) = du/dx = 2x[1/(1+x^4)]"

The auditorium fell silent as every wide eye turned towards Peter, who was now looking towards the Officiator for confirmation.

MJ smirked. Ned snickered under his breath.

The woman at the podium stared at the boy blinking up at her before glancing down at the card in her hands before adjusting her glasses and shakily clearing her throat. "T-that is correct," she breathed, a loud murmur rushing through the audience and over Peter's teammates as they leaned forward to hear her next words.

"Midtown Tech wins!"

Roars roared through the crowd as they rose up from their seats to give applause. Peter barely had any time to turn around before he was being barreled over by his teammates, who practically dog-piled him as they screamed in his ear and howled in joy. Despite the fact that he was acutely aware of each and every touch, Peter couldn't help the smile that spread onto his face as his friends squished their cheeks against his and laughed in his ears.

With a grunt and a reminder to restrain his strength, the teen pushed them off of him before lifting his head and noticing MJ off to the side, arms folded across her chest as she smirked down at them. Charles and Abe grinned at each other before reaching up and each grabbing onto one of her hands, dragging her down to the ground with them.

Her eyes widened slightly before she found herself crumpling on the ground with her teammates as they wrapped their arms around her and all but forced her into their dogpile. Peter couldn't help but giggle at the look of constipation making its way onto her face as she tried not to smile. Behind him, he could hear Flash running up and down the stage, holding the trophy up above his head in celebration.

The others couldn't even get mad, they were so happy.

Shoulders shaking with chuckles, Peter craned his neck to scan the crowd, eyes falling on May as she stood from her seat and waved at him. Seeing as how his arms were being pinned down by the bodies of his teammates, the teen could do little more than smile back at her.

It seemed to be enough as she gave him a thumbs-up, her face falling slightly as she gestured towards the back door. Peter gave a nod of his head and a reassuring smile. May had already taken enough time out of her night shift to be here. He couldn't take up any more of her time.

After a few more minutes of trying and failing to calm his classmates down, the team shook hands with the Officiator and the other team, took pictures, and made their way offstage, all smiles and laughs.

"Dude, that stunt you pulled is going down in the history books as the greatest feat of all time!" Ned practically gushed, spinning around on his heel to face his friend.

Charles laughed and pressed a hand to his forehead. "You didn't even write anything down, man! You're like superhuman or something!"

"And that lady's face when you just blurted out the answer. Right after she asked about forfeit? Priceless!" Cindy howled, eyes scrunching as she wiped away a mock tear, Peter nudging her with his shoulder as the others all smiled.

Peter yelped, however as he felt a hand slap his head once more, rolling his eyes as Michelle came into view, trophy in hand after having wrangled it out of Flash's. "Yeah, yeah. Let's not get too excited here. After all, now that we've won this thing, people are gonna be expecting big things from us. So now we gotta start prepping for next year's match cause I am _not_ losing."

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "Aw, come on, MJ. We just won Regionals! I think we can afford to take a break."

"Ned right, MJ." Mr. Harrington called, walking over with a grin. "You guys really worked yourselves out there. Peter, that was incredible, kid. Great job out there. But you kids more than deserve a break after all that," the man said as he patted Sally and Ned on the shoulders.

Out past the curtains leading back to the main hall, loud voices and laughs could be heard behind the curtains, the teens groaning ever so slightly at the noises. "Man, my parents are never gonna let me get out of here, we'll be taking so many pictures," Cindy muttered, Abe nodding along with her. "I know right. They're gonna call all of my relatives over this."

The others began to gripe about similar issues, Peter nodding along with a couple of chuckles here and there as he heard of some extents parents were willing to go to boast about their children to others.

The teen stole a small glance over towards the curtain, where anxious friends and family waited to greet their kids. Peter felt his smile fall slightly at that, knowing he'd have nobody to go to once they walked outside. Then again, that was usually the case with these meets so he couldn't say he wasn't used to it by now.

He turned back towards the others, only to notice Flash's eyes on him. And from the look on the bully's face, he'd seen Peter's expression. The boy smirked at him and placed a hand on his hip. "What's the matter, Parker? Sad your little buddy _Tony Star_ k isn't here to congratulate you?" he asked, though the usual levels of spite and malice seemed to have been dialed back ever so slightly, seeing as how the boy was still pumped over their win to be too much of an ass.

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced away, the others scrunching up their noses, about to tell the boy off for trying to put a damper on their celebrating, only for a new voice to beat them to it.

"Seems reasonable. I mean, I assume anyone who knows me gets depressed when I'm not around to brighten up their lives." All seven kids plus teacher turned to stare as Tony Stark strode over, removing his sunglasses from his face as he rested his hands inside the pockets of his suit pants. He also had a...Popsicle stick in his mouth?

"Or is that just Happy?" he asked, glancing behind him at the other three who followed, including Colonel Rhodes, Pepper Potts, and Happy Hogan, the latter throwing his boss an unamused look.

Peter felt as though his eyes were about to pop out of his skull as he stared, mouth agape. "M...M-M...Mr...Ssss...St-st..." He stuttered, seeming to literally puff smoke from his ears as his brain caught fire. The billionaire couldn't help but smirk at the boy's reaction as he placed his sunglasses on the perch of the teen's nose, pushing them up into place as Peter's face remained slack.

"Nice job up there, kiddo. Gotta say, your ability to leave people speechless almost rivaled mine for a second. Just for a second, though mind you," he smirked, patting the teen on the shoulder as he took out the Popsicle stick and flicked it onto the ground. "But I knew I hired you for a reason."

Pepper reached forward and pinched the boy's cheek. "Peter you were amazing out there, sweetie," she gushed while Rhodey clapped him on the back. "Very impressive, little man."

The other students had yet to say anything, all of them holding expressions that matched Peter's to a tee, except MJ of course. The girl simply stared at the man with a bored look, rolling her eyes at her teammates' reactions.

Flash blinked up at him before raising up a shaky finger and pointing it in his direction. "You're Tony Stark."

Tony raised a brow at the boy and felt a humored huff fall from his lips, Rhodes scoffing behind him while Pepper and Happy continued to check over their shoulders, seemingly scanning for anybody with a camera out.

"That I am, child I don't know nor care to find out about," he replied, MJ finally giving some sort of response as she smirked.

"You're Tony Stark."

The man shook his head and lifted his head towards Mr. Harrington. "Hey, teach. You don't mind if I take Pete here off your hands right?"

The teacher hesitated for a moment before shaking himself out of his stupor and letting out a nervous chuckle. "No...o-of course not, Mr. Stark...sir."

"Great." With that, he latched onto Peter's wrist and began to guide the teen farther away from the still speechless group. Glancing back, Peter gestured for both MJ and Ned to follow him, the former having to push the latter forward, seeing as how the boy had yet to speak or move. Or breathe probably if his red face gave any indication.

"That was Tony Stark!"

Peter tried to block out the sounds of his classmates practically vibrating behind him as he reached up and removed the sunglasses from his face, turning up to face the billionaire. "W...w-what are you doing here?" he breathed, blinking up with wide eyes.

The man scoffed and accepted the glasses back. "Well I don't know if you've ever done this before but when you invite someone somewhere, chances are high that they're gonna show up."

Behind the man, Peter could see Pepper and Rhodey smiling at him, Happy continuing to gruffly keep watch for paparazzi hounds. The teen let out a small breath as he felt his face scrunch slightly. "Well, I get that. It's just...I...I didn't think you'd actually come."

"Why? Think I got better things to do?"

"Well... _yeah._ "

The man waved a hand dismissively. "Please, I _live_ for these things. Every Saturday night you'll see me scouring the streets of New York desperately searching for any Decathlon tournaments to pop into."

Peter scoffed and shook his head, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as a lopsided grin made its way onto his face. "I mean it. Why would you waste time on something like this when you _obviously_ have more important things to deal with?"

Tony paused for a minute before smiling and bopping Peter gently on the head with the folded up sunglasses. "Cause you wanted me to, kiddo."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, only for the words to die in his throat as a smile formed on his face. Tony smiled back, only to blink rapidly and clear his throat, roughly patting Peter's shoulders as he averted his gaze and stared at the two other teens behind his intern. "So, you gonna introduce me to your little nerd friends, kid?"

Pepper and Rhodey rolled their eyes at the not-so-great cover-up.

Peter straightened up at that and turned to stare at his friends. "R-right, right. Mr. Stark, this is M-"

"I can introduce _myself_ thank you very much, Loser," the girl muttered, taking a step forward. "It's Michelle. Michelle Jones."

Tony nodded. "So you're MJ."

"To some people."

He smirked. "Well nice to meet you, Michelle," he said as he extended his hand. The girl stared down at it with an unimpressed face before lifting her eyes to throw him a look. _Alright then..._

The billionaire moved to face the other boy, only to grunt as he felt two sweaty hands clasp onto his own, his arm practically being ripped out of its socket as the chubby boy shook his arm up and down. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod! Mr. Stark, it is so great to meet you. Peter's told me all about you and I can't believe I'm actually standing here looking at you, talking at you, shaking your hand and everything. I mean it is a dream come true for me I've been waiting for this moment to come ever since Peter told me about you and its everything I dreamed of and more and I just, I can't, I mean I-"

It took both Peter and MJ wrapping their arms around Ned's waist and tugging with all their might to get him to unhook himself from the billionaire's hand, Tony staring with wide eyes as the three teens stepped back, Ned's face red and beaming as the boy grinned. "I can't feel my legs!"

Peter groaned while MJ scoffed in disgust, the former turning back to his boss. "S-sorry about him. He's...well...he's not used to being approached by people like...well, by people like you."

Tony took a breath, shaking his now sore hand as he gripped his wrist. "Uh...no problem. I'll just...have to be prepared next time I see your little friend. Ted, was it?"

"Oh my god! He remembered my name!"

"That's not even - you know what?" Michelle muttered, releasing her hold on the large boy and watching as he crumpled to the ground by her feet.

Tony and Peter watched them before they both shook their heads, the billionaire turning back to the boy. "Anyway, I don't know about you but watching you kick some nerdy butt has made me crave some nutrients. So...ice cream?"

"Now?"

"Either that or next winter. My schedule's pretty booked."

Peter grinned before the smile faltered, his eyes moving towards Pepper and Rhodey. "But...but I thought we were supposed to be lying low. You know, the pictures?"

Rhodey shrugged his shoulders. "We figured the last place the paparazzi would be looking is some random Decathlon tournament so our bets were pretty safe here."

"And out there?"

Pepper shrugged. "Drive-thru."

"Oh."

Tony turned back towards the others. "You kids wanna join us?"

Ned's eyes grew even wider at that, if such a thing were possible. "Mom...waiting...me...go..."

"He'll take a rain check." Peter translated, placing a hand on Ned's shoulder before forcefully spinning the teen and pushing him back over towards the other teammates. Michelle shrugged her shoulders. "I gotta go make sure those idiots don't burn down a taco stand or something while they're celebrating."

Peter grimaced slightly at that. "Right. The others. Listen...you think they'll mind if I go off and-"

"Peter." She held up two hands. "Getting stale grimy tacos from a stand that could double as a mobile garbage dump...or ice cream with a billionaire." She let a smirk fall onto her face as she patted him on the shoulder. "I think they'll understand."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, MJ." He called as she turned away, getting a middle finger in response. He only chuckled at the sight, Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey cocking a brow and tilting their heads at the gesture before the billionaire shrugged his shoulders. _Teenagers._

Rhodey glanced behind him at the curtain that blocked off the backstage area fro the main hall. "Now, as lovely as it would be going through the sea of sweaty dads and sob-happy moms waiting for us behind those curtains, you know if there's a back entrance to this place?" he asked, Happy already having left to go and get the car ready.

Peter grinned at that and motioned for them to follow him.

A few minutes later had the four of them dashing through the rusted metal door leading to the alley behind the convention center, Peter jumping over the railing while the others took a more _human_ approach and climbed down the few stairs leading to the ground, a sleek black car pulling up right as they landed. Jumping into the car, Pepper, Tony and Peter climbed into the back while Happy and Rhodey took the front.

"Where to?" The driver called from the front.

Tony looked down and glanced at Peter, the teen giving him the brightest smile he'd ever seen, Tony chest expanding in a strange way at the sight. He couldn't resist the smile that grew onto his own face as he patted the teen's shoulder and turned back towards the front.

"Happy, find the crappiest ice cream place around here."

Peter perked at that. "I know a place where Ned once found a thumb in his bowl."

"Perfect!"


	18. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Still...you're my son and I won't let you be buried."
> 
> The Cons tensed their muscles.
> 
> Peter's heart stopped.
> 
> Richard raised his hand and pressed two fingers together.
> 
> "So I'll break you myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence and abuse

**Thursday - April 21, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs**

**07:27 a.m.**

"This is starting to get out of hand, Rich." Max slammed the newspaper down onto the table, the loud _slap_ that resonated through the subway car making them all tense slightly. "I know you said to keep our mouths shut about this, but I don't think I can anymore," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest as he glared down at the ground.

All of the Cons currently sat strewn about their conference center, the Subway car down in the labs. Max sat on the corner of Richard's desk while Sandra and Flint sat on the seats across from him, Curt resting atop one of the bar stools.

Sandra propped one leg up and rested her elbow on the side of the seat. "This is going too far."

"He's getting too involved. You can even see it in the way he _talks_ to us nowadays," Max continued. "The way he acts. Stark's rubbing off on him, chipping away at everything we've done," he snarled, eyes glinting a shade of blue before dimming back down to their usual brown.

The sound of a crinkling bag made them all turn towards Flint, who was currently digging around in the remains of a bag of chips, face scrunched in concentration. Sandra narrowed her eyes at him and curled her lip as she whipped her hand out and slapped the bag to the floor, Flint straightening up in surprise. "Are the answers we're looking for at the bottom of that bag, Marko?" she snapped.

"The answers _I'm_ looking for, anyway," the man muttered as he stooped down and scooped the bag up with a pointed look thrown at the woman. He tilted his head back and allowed the last few crumbs to dribble into his mouth, crumpling up the bag before tossing it over his shoulder. "Besides," he said, voice muffled from the mouthful of food. "What's the big deal? So the kid's hanging out with Stark? Isn't that what we wanted in the first place?"

Max growled from his seat. "The big deal, you fat fuck, is that that billionaire asshole is messing up our work." He scoffed and rose up from the desk. "I knew this was a bad idea from day one," he said, beginning to pace up and down the aisle while Curt and Flint rolled their eyes. "For ten years, we've been successful with Peter. The training, the lessons, the experiments. Everything clean-cut, quiet and perfect. And the little brat never uttered a _word_ of rebellion. Not one. He was smarter. He knew better."

He curled his hands into fists and spat out the next few words. "And then _Stark_ waltzes right in here flashing big bucks and dripping narcissism all over the place, infecting the little rat with his charm. Peter's weak. He's falling right into that son of a bitch's hands."

The sounds of a crackling screen made them all turn their heads up to the screen above their heads, resembling a small flat-screen propped up into the top corner of the car. Across the bottom of the pitch black screen were the words **_AUDIO ONLY._**

_"Well, the big question here is...why did you let him go off with Stark in the first place?_ "

The voice that came through was airy and young.

"Fuck off you little tart," Sandra growled at the screen. "Drop the condescension. You know why."

The screen crackled once again. " _Remind me._ " The voice came through, sparking with sarcasm.

The older woman curled her lip, continuing to glare up at the screen as if her gaze could pierce through to the person on the other end. "We want him to know what Stark knows. We want him in a position we can use _if_ and _when_ the times comes for it." Sandra flicked her hand through the air. " He's _literally_ crawling through the mainframes of Stark Industries. And that means we can tear it down with a snap of our fingers."

The woman suddenly stopped and pointed to the newspaper sitting on the desk. "But this...this is not that. _This_ has bad news written all over it."

"Literally," Curt chided with a smirk.

Sandra narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm serious. And Max is right. That prick is rubbing off on Peter. You can see it just in the way he carries himself nowadays."

Flint couldn't suppress a scoff as a small smirk fell onto his face. "Come on. Aren't you guys exaggerating a little bit here?"

The older woman glowered at him before whirling on her heels and turning towards the dark-skinned man. "Max, how many years has it been since Peter talked back to you? Six? Seven?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "Well, he broke that record after spending _one_ week with that asshole. _One._ Imagine what'll happen if we let that slide, if we let that go any longer. Imagine what he'll start to _think."_

Max grit his teeth together. "He'll start to think he can get away with it."

"I don't know about you guys," Sandra started again, "but I spent a good few years of my fucking life making sure that little brat was nothing but putty in our hands and I'm not about to let that smug rich asshole mess with it!"

For a moment the car was quiet, the gravity of the woman's words hanging heavy in the air, seeming to take all of their voices with it. The tension settling over the group had scents of rage, annoyance and irritation permeating all throughout as they each took a moment to contemplate their next move.

_"Sounds to me like you're a little jealous."_

The Cons all turned their heads to stare up at the TV screen above them, Sandra's eyes narrowing into icy chips as she gnashed her teeth together. "What did you say?" she practically hissed.

"What? You...you don't see it? Oh, this is great!" The voice chirped, seemingly giddy with amusement. "Think about it. You guys spend _years_ breaking him down into what he is today, crushing and molding him into your perfect little puppet, dancing around as you jolt and jab at his strings, tightening them, tubing them. And then Stark comes into the picture and in - what, about two months - basically undos nearly _all_ of your work, frays all your strings. Either Stark's a lot smarter than you guys first thought, or-"

"Bite your tongue, whore!" Sandra screeches, fingertips crackling with violet energy as her eyes take on the same ethereal hue.

The voice didn't seem all that perturbed with the comment, simply chuckling. "I'm just saying...the proof's in the pawn."

Curt stifled a yawn as he glanced lazily between the group. "So what are we supposed to do about it? Take him out of there? I thought we needed him on the inside."

"We do."

They all turned their heads towards Richard's desk, where his computer monitor had been turned to stare out at them. The screen showed the interior of a private jet, Richard himself sitting comfortable in one of the chairs. He'd been quiet for the majority of the video call, simply content to hear his allies thoughts on the matter.

"Peter is a valuable piece to this little puzzle of ours. If not, I would have killed him _years_ ago," he murmured with a flick of his wrist. "So if he's valuable enough to keep alive, then I don't plan on losing this tool so soon." He narrowed his eyes. "You all know just how much I hate to lose."

The others all averted their gazes ever so slightly as their postures became just a bit more rigid.

"Sir?" The TV crackled overhead, the voice sounding much more eager than before. "Do you need me to come in early? I...I could help you."

The man shook his head. "No. No, you have your orders. Now you stick to them, you understand me? Stay on schedule. You'll come into play later."

"But I-" They didn't get to hear any more as Richard motioned something with his hand, Max pressing a button on the remote by his side, the audio quickly cutting out as the TV shut off. As he set the remote down again, Max turned towards the monitor. "So what do we do, man? We can't stop him from seeing Stark. The whole _point_ of this was for Peter to get Stark to trust him."

"Obviously that worked." Flint remarked to which Sandra folded her arms and added, "Yeah, a little too well. Now the _real_ problem is making sure Peter remembers the Rules, especially number one."

Richard folded his hands on his lap, sitting in silence for a moment as his eyes narrowed in thought. After a second, a sigh passed through his lips and he leaned back in his chair. "Peter's known who he can and who he _can't_ trust for quite some time now. Stark has been messing with that."

He pressed his hands into the armrests of the seat and leaned forward. "So here's our situation. We have a dog who's forgetting its lessons and disobeying once again." He righted himself and straightened out his suit. "Now, we're not going to _kill_ the dog, obviously. Now when we've spent so much time on it."

A smirk worked its way onto his face. "No...I think there's a better option."

One by one, large smiles began to spread on the faces of the Cons, each of them letting out different chuckles as the man's words began to seep in, the underlying tones hitting deep.

"Do nothing for now. I should be on the ground in a couple of hours. I'll deal with it then."

Flint scrunched his face. "Uh...we get to help, right?"

"He'll need all of us for this little lesson," Richard announced, to the pleasure of the Cons. "His leash has been a little too lax for too long now. I think it's time we tighten it."

* * *

**Thursday - April 21, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse**

**06:54 p.m.**

"You should have seen the look on his face! It was priceless. I wish I'd taken a picture of it. I would have had it framed," Peter laughed from where he sat on the kitchen counter. Natasha sat on one of the bar stools, arms crossed and legs perched up on the next nearby stool, a content smirk on her face as she listened to the boy rattle off his latest pieces of news. "Not to mention the fact that Ned just about slipped in his own puddle of drool."

The woman let out a small chuckle before propping an elbow on the counter and resting her cheek on the closed fist. "Are all your Decathlon tournaments this exciting? Cause if so, I might just have to see one of these things," she murmured with a wink.

Peter waved a hand dismissively and smiled. "Just the ones Mr. Stark crashes. It was probably one of the greatest moments of my entire life."

Natasha had found the boy doing homework when she'd arrived about an hour or so. After a few moments of awkward greetings and shy smiles, she'd finally coaxed the boy to disclose anything new happening in his life, see if maybe she could figure out any more information on him. Her promise to Tony still hung in the back of her mind, something she wasn't planning to break. Still...it couldn't hurt to be a _little_ informed.

Having expected the same shy-spoke, quiet boy to give her one-word answers, the woman was shockingly surprised when Peter immediately began to rattle off about his so-called Decathlon tournament and everything that had taken place. Natasha was even more surprised to hear about everything Tony had done afterwards. She'd known the billionaire for _many_ years and not once had he ever acted in the same manner that Peter had described to her.

Still, taking note of the boy's excited ramblings and the lack of stuttering, Natasha couldn't help but wonder if maybe this new side of Tony was doing something good. Even though Peter was still far from the most outspoken boy she'd ever met, what with his voice still retaining a quiet-like demeanor even in his most excitable states, the woman still felt a smile tugging at her lips as he happily chatted away, homework seemingly forgotten about for now.

"And then we went for ice cream at McKreamy's and Happy found a shrimp in his Rocky Road. Which is kinda strange considering they don't even serve shrimp...or any type of seafood for that matter but I mean, it could have been a _lot_ worse."

The woman cocked a brow. "Was it at least cooked?"

"...no."

She chuckled, teeth showing as she smiled and shook her head. "Now I _really_ wish I'd been there."

Peter pressed his hands into his knees and leaned forward. "You totally should have. It was literally the best." His feet began to kick out excitedly as he continued to talk. "Even MJ was a little starstruck. I mean, she didn't really show it on her face cause MJ _never_ shows stuff like that on her face but I could totally tell. She does this thing where she curls her finger around a strand of hair and pulls on it whenever she's excited which makes it more frizzy but honestly her hair is always frizzy which is kinda hilarious cause all the other girls at school are always in the backroom fixing themselves up but she always has her hair up and messy. But not the kind of messy that makes you look dirty, just the kind of messy that makes you look like you don't care without making it seem that you _want_ people to know that you don't care. That's a whole other thing and...what?"

The boy trailed off from his ramblings as he caught sight of Natasha giving him a humorous look.

She shook her head and motioned with her hands for him to continue. "Nothing. Nothing. Go on, tell me more about this...MJ," she smirked, a noticeable glint in her eye that Peter was oblivious to as he smiled.

"She's the best. She's the captain of our Decathlon team so she's like, super stupid smart, but not in the whole braggy kind of way, just the kind where she could be sitting in the back of the class minding her own business when all of a sudden someone challenges her or something and she's just like _BAM! Knowledge Drop!_ " Natasha reared back slightly as the boy's hands emphasized his words. "-and then just walk right out without saying another word. She's just so cool and awesome and - okay, you're definitely giving me some weird looks," the boy murmured, trailing off as his eyes darted over to the woman.

"What is it?" He asked before deflating ever so slightly, face scrunching in unease. "I'm boring you, aren't I? I'm sorry, I just-"

"No, no. It's not that." Natasha said quickly before the boy could completely shut down on her. "It's just...funny," she chuckled, only for Peter to tilt his head slightly at her words. "You this passionate about all your friends?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I only have the two so...kinda." His eyes widened again in excitement as he leaned forward once more. "You wanna hear about Ned? He's great too!"

"Don't take that bait."

Both Peter and Natasha turned towards the new voice right as Tony made his appearance, striding into the kitchen wearing black sweatpants and a dark gray T-shirt, holding a Stark pad that he'd occasionally glance at and scroll through as he walked up. Pepper and Rhodey followed up behind him, similar Stark Pads in their hands as well.

Natasha took note of the way Peter's smile grew wider as the man entered, Tony setting the pad down on the counter as he turned towards her. "I've fallen for that trap and was stuck hearing about these friends of his for the next two hours," he muttered, jerking a thumb in Peter's direction.

The boy threw him a shy smile and shrugged a shoulder. "You asked. I answered."

"Yeah, you answered all right."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she turned to Tony. "Peter here was just telling me about how you crashed his Decathlon meet and took him for ice cream at a very questionable establishment."

The man scrunched his face. "Hey, _he_ recommended it. So if anything, the whole shrimp debacle is his doing."

"Please not the shrimp thing again," Pepper muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Rhodey shuddered beside her. Natasha shook her head in disbelief. "How'd you even end up at a place like that with a billionaire in the car?"

Tony scoffed at the question, as if such a thing were trivial turned towards Peter. "You wanna take this one?"

The boy glanced over at the man before turning towards the others, who all gave him expectant looks. He cocked his head to the side. "It's Queens. You can't splurge in Queens. You gotta eat at the dumpiest of the dumps and the crappiest of the crap-diners. That's how you find the best hole-in-the-walls. Like Delmar's. That place looks like a garbage heap on the outside, but it's still got the best sandwiches in all of Queens," he twirled his hand in the air for added emphasis. "Sure, you get your stomach pumped a few times along the way, but that's just the Queens experience."

Tony nodded along, leaning up against the counter next to Peter. "Yeah, if you're not puking your guts out and picking rat droppings out of you food, you're not doing it right."

"Exactly."

Rhodey shook his head. "Classy."

"Authentic is what you mean," Tony smirked with a loving pat to the man's shoulders before clapping his hands together and resting them on Peter's shoulders. The boy jumped at the sudden contact but let a small smile fall onto his face nonetheless. "Now, if you all don't mind, I'm going to be stealing my intern away."

Peter glanced over at the man. "Why? Is something wrong. Do you need me to do something?" he asked, pulling away from the man's grip and turning to face him.

Tony waved him off. "Relax, kid. World's not ending. Just follow the leader, would you?" he mused before poking the teen in the ribs. Peter yelped at the touch before rubbing at his side with a miffed grin, Tony conveniently not noticing the look as he walked off. Peter turned back as he hopped off the counter and began to follow the man out of the room, waving back towards the red-headed assassin. "Bye Natasha."

The woman couldn't help but raise a hand back to him. "See you, kid," she murmured before watching him disappear around a corner. The remaining three adults stood in silence for a moment, staring at where the two had left before Natasha turned back to the others and folded her arms over her chest. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Tony doesn't really _willingly_ leave the tower much anymore, right?"

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged looks before nodding.

"Right. So tell me something. How is it that the thing that finally got him to leave was a Decathlon tournament?"

Pepper let out a small sigh as she walked past the woman and over to the counter, sitting down at one of the stools. She rested an elbow on the marble surface and rubbed her face. "That's what we've been trying to figure out for the past few days." She murmured as Rhodey walked over as well, leaning up against the counter instead.

The man stared at Natasha hard for a moment, eyes searching her face almost as if he were looking for any shades of distrust in her features. He hesitated for a moment, jaw squared as he seemed to ponder whether or not discussing the matter was a good idea with the woman. But after a moment, he relinquished and rubbed the back of his neck. "He's struggling. Like...like _really_ struggling," he finally admitted. "The last time I saw him like this was back in 1991, when..." he trailed off, throwing the woman a small look. "You know."

"Yeah...I know."

"And I'll admit," the man sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. "There's a lot less hookers and drugs involved this time but...he's relapsing again." With that, the man glanced behind him at the nearby trashcan. If they angled their heads just right, the lights from above would catch on the empty glass bottles inside, reflecting small gleams back into their eyes.

Natasha gave a small nod of her head, eyes remaining fixed on the garbage. "Saw that when I came in."

"Hard to miss, really." Pepper murmured. "He at least has the sense not to do it in front of us. But..." she trailed off for a moment, face growing pained as she turned to look at them, fingers twitching on the counter. "...I don't think he sleeps. At least, not enough." All three of them were used to the idea of Tony not getting enough sleep. Even back before everything happened, the man worked off of single-digit hours of rest and remained functioning somehow. So the idea of him seemingly getting _less_ sleep than usual made them all shudder slightly. Pepper continued. "And all that time he spends... _not_ sleeping, he's down in that damn lab, working and... _not_ working." She glanced back over towards the bottles.

The woman ran a hand through her hair nervously. "I'm worried. I'm _so_ worried for him. At this point, all it'll take is _one_ thing. _One_ more thing going wrong and..." she grit her teeth together and curled her fingers around the knobs of her knees. "I don't even want to think about it."

Rhodey placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly, the woman reaching up her own hand to set atop his. Natasha watched their interaction and let out a sigh of her own, grabbing the seat next to Pepper and sitting down. It wasn't often that something rattled the strawberry blonde. In all the years Natasha had known her, she could honestly say that Pepper Potts was one of the strongest and scariest women she'd ever met. She had to be considering everything that happened around her. So to see her shivering while on the brink of tears rendered Natasha speechless for more than a moment.

"I was so afraid of this," she finally said after giving Pepper a minute to compose herself once more. "Of all of this happening. But...I have to be honest, I was prepared for him to be worse."

"Worse?" Rhodey echoed, shooting the woman a dirty look. "Worse than this?"

Natasha shook her head. "Remember back a few years ago, the Palladium incident in California?"

Judging by the grimaces stretching across their faces, she was willing to bet they did.

"I saw him at his lowest, at his worst. This...this isn't it," she murmured. "I was ready to see it again, expecting it. But...something's holding it back. Something's keeping him...stable. And I think it has to do with that Decathlon meet." She paused and glanced up at the others, noticing they were now staring down at the ground. "Judging from the looks on your faces, you've picked up on it, too."

Pepper remained silent for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I'll admit, Tony acts a lot different around Peter than he does with us. For the longest time, I thought it was just because he was trying to get the kid to warm up to him. But now...I think it's...he's genuinely happy when Peter's here. I can tell. His smile isn't forced, He's relaxed. He's...he's himself again. Heck, Peter wasn't even supposed to be here, today. He's really only 'scheduled' to come in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, but Tony picked him up for lunch after school again, completely out of the blue!"

Rhodey folded his arms over his chest. "Peter...Peter was never meant to be a crutch, Natasha. Tony only adopted him as an intern to keep an eye on him. To...to..." He seemed to struggle with what he was about to say before abandoning it altogether and diverting onto another track. "Just...Tony's supposed to be helping Peter. I never expected it to be the other way around.

Natasha furrowed her brows. "I don't think it is. Not completely at least." She folded her own arms. "Look, I'm not blind. I know there's something off about Peter. Something you all are probably not supposed to tell me."

"Nor are we going to," Rhodey shot back, throwing her a challenging look.

She held up her hands. "And that's fine. I won't pry. I already promised Tony I wouldn't." The others looked surprised at that. She pretended not to notice.

"But from the little I've gathered offhandedly, Peter's obviously got some problems. _Big_ problems from what I can tell." She noticed the others beginning to look uncomfortable and quickly shifted. "And Tony...well, that speaks for itself." She pointed towards the overflowing trash can. "I won't claim to know what Tony's feeling...or Peter for that matter cause...cause I don't." She pushed herself off of the stool she'd been occupying and faced the others fully.

"But what I _do_ know is that these two seem to be...helping each other, in some way or another. Just look at how they interact with each other. Peter's _way_ more relaxed than when I first met him, and I'm willing to bet it's the same for you guys. and as for Tony, well...I think we've found our reason as to why he's not passed out drunk right this moment."

She shrugged her shoulders and ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know if they're just distractions for each other or something more, but whatever it is it seems to be working.

Rhodey said nothing for a moment before uncrossing his arms and staring back at the woman. "Yeah, but for how long? Distractions are only effective for so long."

Natasha shook her head. "Hopefully they figure out what they are to each other before that happens."

"And if they don't...?" Pepper asked softly.

All three looked at each other, an unspoken feeling of tension immediately weighing down heavily on their shoulders, for they all knew the answer. But none of them had the courage to put it into words. After a moment, Natasha finally spoke, voice soft.

"I don't know...and I don't want to think about it either."

**. . . . .**

"You know, I've been thinking. Next time I come and visit your little nerd squad, you think I should just come straight out of the iron man armor?"

"You are _definitely_ going to make one of them explode if you do that. And I'm just gonna say here and now, I'm not liable."

Tony smirked over from where he was currently working on said armor, glancing over at Peter who was hunched over his mini arc-reactor project that he'd been working on for a while now. The teen threw him a smile as the billionaire rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Those teens could use a little excitement in their lives. What's the most exciting thing you guys do anyways?"

"Well I mean, I stopped a gang that was robbing a bank with water guns yesterday so..."

"Oh quiet, you don't count." Tony muttered, throwing a screw over towards the teen while easily ducked underneath the projectile with a chuckle. "Alright, alright, non-superpowered activities? I mean, once we got two roombas and had a death match."

"Had a...wait, what?"

"You know, just tie a balloon to the back of each of them, tape a knife to the front and see who can pop the other's balloon first?"

Tony lifted his head and blinked over at his intern, who shrugged his shoulders. "It got pretty intense. Ned had to get stitches."

The billionaire just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Hard to top that, now isn't it?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it. We had bets going and everything."

The man chuckled and pulled at a loose wire. "Well my point still stands. Your pasty-faced little dork crew could probably live with a little more fun."

Peter tilted his head back and forth as he pressed a small miniature laser into one of the crevices of the device he was currently working on, bright white light shining into his eyes. "You're not wrong. I'm not exaggerating when I said Ned had to take like three pumps of his inhaler that night from what MJ said," he laughed, Mr. Stark doing the same from his seat across the table.

The two fell into comfortable silence after that. It was nice, a comforting blanket of quiet that washed over the both of them, the only real noises being the whirl of the laser, the clink of metal tools hitting the table or wires being snapped and yanked. If the same situation had arisen only a month prior, both Peter and Tony would have been feeling the crushing effect of awkwardness, neither sure what to do in the other's presence.

But in all the time they'd been spending together, the two of them could honestly say that such pleasantries were no longer required. They didn't need words to fill the silences between them. Simply sitting in each other's company seemed to be enough.

However, tonight, Peter couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. He glanced up from his work to gaze at the man sitting across from him before turning back down to the mini arc-reactor, which was near completion. Still, every so often, he'd glance back up towards Mr. Stark, as if unsure of something. And if the man noticed the teen's little secret looks, he didn't say anything. He didn't even look up from his work.

Finally, Peter let out a small sigh and threw the man a sheepish look. "M...Mr. Stark?"

Tony lifted his eyes at that, noticing with a little hesitancy that Peter had just stuttered, something he'd been improving on. Immediately, the man noticed that he looked incredibly unsure of himself, fidgeting in his seat and playing with the deactivated laser in his hands. The billionaire furrowed his brows but decided to let the boy speak on his own terms instead of prompting him to speak.

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip, staring down at his hands before taking a deep breath. "I, uh...I just..." He cleared his throat, setting down the laser and running a hand across the back of his neck, eyes firmly staying glued to the table. "I just wanted to s-say...thanks...for, uh...for..." He swallowed, his throat seeming unnaturally dry.

Scrunching his face, the boy shut his eyes and took another breath, blowing it out slowly between his lips. All the while, Tony looked on in silence, itching to say something but deciding that it was best to let Peter work up the confidence to say whatever it was he needed to say himself. Lord knew the teen needed as much confidence as he could get.

Finally, the teen lifted his gaze and stared the billionaire in the eyes. "I wanted to thank you...for coming to the tournament. For...for making good on what you said. I...it..." The teen's gaze dropped for a moment of hesitancy before lifting once again, a sheepish smile accompanying it. "It was really cool of you." He let out a small nervous huff of laughter.

Tony stared at the boy who was obviously stepping outside of his comfort zone saying something as intimate as a heartfelt thank you. After a moment, the man returned the boy's smile with one of his own, warm brown eyes meeting hazel. "No problem, kid."

He blinked his eyes and cleared his throat, glancing down at the little project in the teen's hands, turning back to focus on his own work. "How's it coming along over there anyway?"

Peter glanced down at the arc-reactor in his hands. "Actually...I think I'm done."

"Whoa, seriously? Already?" Tony asked, immediately lifting his head and rising to his feet. He hadn't expected the kid to finish up with his little project for another few weeks or so. Maybe even a month or two. After all, arc-reactor technology wasn't exactly an easy subject to get down.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as Tony walked over and began to inspect the little device. "Well, yeah. I mean, the only thing I think I'm missing is the power source, but I don't really have any Euridium on hand with me."

The billionaire finished inspecting the device and glanced over at the kid, throwing him a smirk. 'Well, lucky for you, you know somebody who does."

He set the reactor down on the table and motioned for Peter to follow him. Not bothering to check behind him to see if the kid was following him (as he was almost positive he was), Tony made his way onto the upper levels of the lab. He walked over towards the back walls, where a private section of the lab - about the size of an office - stood with frosted-over glass walls to prevent prying eyes from looking in. Motioning for the kid to stay where he was, Tony raised a hand to the panel next to the door of the restricted room, the glass clearing as the door opened.

Stepping inside, Tony moved towards the back cabinets and drawers. Kneeling down, he revealed the keypad installed into the wall. Pressing in the familiar ten-digit code, the man pulled the drawer open. Eyeing the extra copy of the arc-reactor plans stored inside, he brushed them aside and eyes the small box stored in the corner of the drawer, about the size of a textbook.

He gently removed the box from the drawer and closed it up with his foot, the drawer sliding back into the wall with a soft hiss, the small button atop the keypad going from green to red as it locked once more. Stepping out of the room, Peter watched with curious eyes as Tony led him back down into the main open layout of the bottom floor of the lab.

He set the case on the floor as he went about clearing the table. As he did so, he couldn't help but glance over at Peter, who was now helping to gather the random papers strewn about, stacking them neatly in his hands and setting them on one of the other nearby tables. The man furrowed his brows in thought as he continued to haphazardly toss junk and gadgets over his shoulder, not nearly as conscientious of the stuff as his intern was. His mind remained on the Decathlon meet. After the tournament itself, their little group had gone on to actually have a pretty great time. Peter had been as calm as could be, even cracking a few jokes here and there with the others. Something about it, something about seeing the kid outside of their usual routine had stirred something in the boy, made him loosen up.

Of course, Peter could have just been riding the high of his team's victory, but Tony suspected it was more than that. Going to his tournament...that was the first time Peter had seen that the billionaire was willing to go out of his way, willing to put in effort for him. Perhaps that was what did it, that little sense of validation, of reassurance.

After another moment of hesitation, he spoke. "Listen, kid."

Peter glanced up from the pile of screws he was collecting in his hands and stared at the man. Welp, no going back now.

"I just, uh...I just wanted you to know...if you..." He paused. Even after nearly two months of this, he still wasn't very good. Nevertheless, he carried on. "If you ever need something...or have something you want me to come to...just let me know. And I'm there."

He expected the kid to smile and delve into ' _thank you's_ ', but instead the teen just shrugged his shoulders and went back to collecting the little screws and placing them into the ever-growing pile in his palm. "You don't have to do that, Mr. Stark," he said casually, as if the man had just offered to help him with his homework or something trivial like that. "It was really awesome of you to do it that one time, but I don't want you to think I expect anything of you."

Tony blinked at that, opening his mouth to speak but finding that no words came out. Peter didn't seem shocked by his own words at all, simply brushing the collected pile of screws into one of the trays stacked on the counter.

Nu-uh. Nope. He was biting this in the bud right now.

Immediately, the man walked over and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Peter jumped at this and instinctively tried to pull away, only to calm as his brain caught up to the fact that it was just Mr. Stark. The man spun him around so that the teen was fully facing him. "But you _can_ expect things from me, Peter," he stressed, the teen staring up at him with curiously confused eyes. "It's not a burden."

Realizing the confused look on the boy's eyes wasn't going away, Tony let out a sign and decided to bite the bullet, lifting his free hand and resting it on Peter's other shoulder. " _You're_ not a burden."

As if those words were some sort of secret code, Peter quickly slumped his shoulders, eyes trailing down to the floor as the toe of his shoe scuffed the tiled floor. He bit the inside of his cheek and lifted his gaze.

"Really?" Peter whispered, his voice so quiet and wistful that Tony wanted to drive straight over to the kid's house and slug Richard Parker right in the face.

But instead, he simply threw the teen a reassuring, playful smile. "Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Besides," he added, removing his hands from the boy's shoulder and shrugging. "It was fun. And if future events are anything like that Roomba death match, then put me down for some money cause I want in on that action."

Peter stared at the man for a moment before blinking and letting a sheepish smile crawl onto his face as well. "I mean, we're broke high schoolers so we really only bet Cheetos and goldfish crackers."

Tony had already walked back over to the table and was finishing up swiping random objects to the floor, too lazy to figure out where their proper storage places were. "Hey, look at me." He called, pointing to his face. "Do you think I got where I am today by sleeping on Cheetos and goldfish? This goddamn company was _founded_ off of cheap vending machine snacks and I'll thank you to appreciate them."

Peter laughed as he grabbed the last few tools off the table. He smirked and threw the man an amused look. "Sometimes we even threw in some fruit snacks."

"Goddamn- you're just taunting me now, aren't you? Next time you're having one of these death matches, if I'm not the _first_ person you call, I'm suing you."

"What?"

"Taking it right out of your paycheck."

The boy chuckled and finished cleaning the table off. "Alright, alright," he murmured, setting the stray screwdriver and torch on the counter. He stared down at the objects before glancing over his shoulder at the man that was now stooping down and grabbing the case, setting it down on the now cleared-off table.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Mm-hmm?" he called, not looking up from the case.

Peter walked over and placed his elbows on the table across from the man. "Thank you...for everything."

Tony looked up and met Peter's eyes, large and brown and pure. He smirked, effectively hiding the twinge that sparked in his chest and waved him off. "Forget about it. Now go get your little baking soda volcano and bring it over here so I can pour in our radioactive vinegar, huh?"

The teen chuckled, but turned and did as he was told, walking off to fetch the device.

Tony's eyes trailed after the kid before dropping down to the table, the smile on his face slowly slipping off as his chest tightened uncomfortably. His mouth was dry and the skin on his hands felt too tight. His mind relayed over his words with a bitter tang, a swell of regret washing over them.

Who was _he_ to say he was reliable, dependable? That's what the kid thought of him now, and it was a big fat lie.

All in all, the kid thought a lot of things about him and the majority of it wasn't true. He wasn't responsible. He wasn't trustworthy. He wasn't some incredible figure to look to for guidance. But Tony _let_ him keep believing these things, despite the fact that the man knew them to be untrue. Maybe it was nice having someone look at him with awe in their eyes instead of the usual pity or aggravation. Maybe it was nice feeling that sense of accomplishment again. But whatever it was, Tony knew it wasn't fair. Not to Peter. Not when the kid believed he could now _rely_ on the billionaire.

After all, could he honestly say that _he_ was a responsible enough person to handle that kind of promise.

_Promise._ Peter didn't like that word. Tony was beginning to see why.

The billionaire began to trace through everything that had happened over the past two months, to see where and when he had begun to dig himself so deeply into this lie. Running through the tower hiding from Pepper and Rhodey, visiting the library, working on the reactor, even the Decathlon meet. All of it had been for Peter's sake, to help the boy open up and relax. To get him to trust Tony just a little bit more.

And yet, as his mind ran through all of the events, the billionaire felt a noticeable pang of guilt stabbing into his chest, though he couldn't pinpoint why exactly. It was true. All of it had been to help Peter...right?

The man furrowed his brows, trying to recall the past events with more clarity to see if somehow he was missing something that was now making him taste a bitter tang in his mouth. Each and every time he and Peter interacted, the boy seemed to be a little bit happier, a little more relaxed. However, as he ran through the memories, Tony began to realize something else: _he_ was distracted.

Every time he'd done something stupid with the kid, working in the lab, eating lunch at Delmar's, plotting against the press, his mind had been on Peter and _only_ Peter. Not on Ross. Not on the Rogues. Just Peter.

Immediately, a sinking feeling began to gnaw on Tony's gut as an uneasy sense of dread pooled in his chest.

Was _that_ why he'd done it? To distract himself?

Before he could even _begin_ to tackle the question, Peter was walking back over, arc-reactor in hands. Shaking his heads of the thought, Tony blinked back into reality. Now was not the time. If he was going to have a breakdown, he could at _least_ wait until Peter clocked out for the day.

It was the polite thing to do, after all.

Walking back over towards the table, Tony whipped out a pair of tough, protective gloves as well as a pair of tongs and goggles from below the bench. "Put these on," he instructed the teen as he did so himself.

After making sure the kid was ready, the man carefully opened the box, revealing a bright glowing blue light that immediately made Peter wince and turn his head away slightly on account of how violently bright it was. Tony, however, didn't seem fazed by the light as he positioned the tongs in his gloved hands and reached in, pulling out a small glowing triangle-shaped object, no bigger than a quarter: Euridium in its purest form.

"Whoa..." Peter breathed from beside him, the billionaire trying his hardest not to crack a smile at the teen's reaction. Instead, he reached over towards the arc-reactor and carefully slid the piece into place, readjusting the metal plates to comfortably fit the Euridium inside. As soon as it was in, the man closed up the case and removed his gloves, leaving the goggles on as both he and Peter turned to look at the reactor.

As soon as the Euridium was in place, the device began to glow and spark, the table almost vibrating as the reactor began to integrate its new power source. One particularly violent flash of light made Tony reach out and tug on Peter's jacket, pulling the kid to stand behind him just in case anything went wrong.

However, after a moment and one final surge of light, the glow of the device began to dim to tolerable levels until it finally evened out and ceased to vibrate, leaving a glowing blue arc reactor in its wake, now fully functional.

Both Tony and Peter said nothing, merely staring at the arc reactor for a full minute before the billionaire huffed out a chuckle, removing his goggles and glancing behind him at the still-gawking teen. "Well...color me impressed, kid. Looks like you can stay." He reached out and picked up the arc-reactor. Everything looked completely in-line. The plates, the wiring, the circuits. Everything was exact and precise, as if he'd made it himself.

Peter didn't even move as Tony reached over and pulled the goggles off of the kid's face, the teen's eyes remaining glued to the reactor. "This is the coolest thing I've ever done..." he breathed. "And I fought Captain America."

Tony scoffed. "Flattery will get you everywhere." He clapped his hands together, Peter jumping at the sudden noise. "Well! Now that the preliminary rounds are through," he gestured to the functioning device on the table. "I'd say we can move you up to the real projects." He walked over towards the table where they'd moved all the stuff and picked up a small device that looked like a high-tech playing card. Flicking his wrist, the card let loose a holographic projection that immediately enveloped the entire room, Peter gasping at the sudden lights surrounding him.

"Nanotech."

A sea of blue projections seemed to literally swim around them, connected link chains of hexagonal electron tunnels hovered in the air, floating by ever so gently, spinning and revolving around the room. An ocean had just opened up before their eyes, waving and lapping at the walls of the lab while little particles swam through in schools of nanites. It rippled and shifted ever so slightly, like unsteady waters. The tables, floors and metallic surfaces all reflected the same deep blue color, making it look like the entire room were nothing but one big orb of glowing blue light.

Peter's eyes were as wide as saucers, the bright brown irises reflecting the glowing blue holograms like small pools. A smile slowly began to creep onto his face, growing into a full-blown laugh as he reached up and touched one of the nearby clusters of electrons, looking very much like a kid in a candy store as it phased through his hand, leaving a small tingling sensation behind. His head continued to slowly turn back and forth as he walked backwards through the lab, trying to take in as much of the sight as humanly possible.

Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his own face as he watched the boy move through the lab. He was reminded of when he first discovered Euridium, the smile that had lit up his own face at watching the projected plans of his father's creation.

As he watched the boy take in the sight, Tony took a seat on the workshop bench, blowing out a small sigh as he ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

Things had certainly gotten a lot more complicated in the last few months, Peter only being a small factor in such complications. Still, Tony could honestly say he enjoyed having the teen around. Now whether it was because it felt good to help the boy out or because it was nice to distract himself from his problems, Tony didn't know nor did he want to dwell on the fact. He would have _liked_ to think that it was the former, without a shadow of a doubt, but he knew it was untrue.

Whether he liked it or not, he was quickly becoming a mentor in the teen's eyes and it was a role he'd have to take seriously...even if he had no idea how to even _begin._ Nevertheless, Tony knew it would help the boy _immensely_.

Now, would _he_ also get some benefit out of it by keeping his mind off of the Avengers? Possibly. But what was wrong with that? What was wrong with getting his mind off of his problems for a while? Isn't that what he was basically doing with Peter? Distracting him from his problems at home? If so, then why couldn't he also do the same with himself?

Even as he thought it, another shot of guilt cut through him but the man quickly pushed it down. No, it was fine. Everything was fine.

He glanced back up at Peter, who was now rambling on about nanotechnology and how "awesome" it was. The billionaire cracked a grin as the boy began to delve into a full-blown rant session. Ultimately, the man took a breath and pushed the thoughts away. It wasn't anything he needed to worry about. Peter was getting an environment he could truly thrive in and Tony was given just a little time to _forget_.

Everything would be fine...so why wouldn't the bad feeling in his stomach go away?

* * *

**Thursday - April 21, 2016**

**Springshore Dr. - Parker** **Residence**

**08:02 p.m.**

Peter waved to Happy as he stepped out of the car, the man not returning the gesture as he rolled up the window and sped off. Peter didn't mind. It was just Happy being Happy.

Giving a small roll of his eyes, the teen turned and made his way up the stairs to the large townhouse. Thursdays were usually pretty quiet, the more rigorous training happening on Fridays to allow for maximum recovery time before school on Monday. And yet, for some reason, Peter felt a sense of unease begin to spread throughout his body, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as his muscles coiled to fight an invisible enemy.

This wasn't the usual reluctance he felt to enter the house. No, this was...different. It was the same tingling feeling he always got whenever he was fighting as Spider-Man and something was coming for him. It was the same sense that alerted him to danger, the same one that blared for him to get out of the way, dodge some oncoming attack, avoid something coming for him.

The teen stared up at the large red double doors of the house, feeling a lump beginning to form in his throat as he slowly and cautiously began to ascend the stairs, pushing down the tingling sensation. Whatever it was, he was sure he could handle it. He handled everything else, after all.

However, before he could even open the door, it was opening from the other side. Peter jumped at the sudden movement, eyes meeting Max as he stood in the now open doorway. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans and a black button-down shirt that only had the first two buttons actually fastened, leaving the rest of his bare chest exposed, revealing the numerous tattoos on the dark skin. In his hand he swished around a glass of whiskey.

Quickly lowering his gaze, Peter felt his skin begin to chill as the tingling sense began to grow stronger.

"M-Max?"

"Come with me."

With that, the man turned on his heel, not even bothering to check and see if Peter was following. He was, of course. He didn't dare do anything else.

Peter watched with morbid curiosity as Max swigged down the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, hissing through his teeth as he set the glass down on the counter as they walked past, not even breaking his stride. The elevator doors opened automatically as they approached, Peter reluctantly stepping in next to the man.

The doors shut and they were immediately on their way down.

_Great. What do they want now?_

In the corner of his eye, he could make out Max reaching down and beginning to button the rest of the shirt, even going as far as to roll the cuffs even farther up his arms, revealing even more tattoos. Peter filed this as odd considering Max always liked to have his chest bare but disregarded it as unimportant.

In hindsight, he should have taken it as a clue.

As soon as the elevator doors were open, Peter immediately recognized clue number two: the Station was empty.

The Station was _never_ empty. In a secret lab about the size of a football stadium, filled to the brim with experimental machinery, thugs, criminals, cages, animals, the works, it was always bustling. But now...it was completely void of any and all people. The only things that remained were the huge subway car still fixed to the tracks and a few empty animal cages lining the back wall.

The entire _Station_ was barely even lit. The usual fluorescent lights that illuminated the dark tunnels like a doctor's office were now shut off, leaving only the swinging lights that could barely light a closet let alone a huge space like the lab. The disgusting sickly yellow hue of said lights bathed the lab in long dark shadows that stretched along the stained, puddle-filled floors and up the browning walls. Occasionally, the lights would flicker on and off, leaving the Station lit only by the eerie red emergency lights running along the track at times.

Usually, there were so many people in the lab that Peter could barely hear himself think. But now that it was empty, every little noise and creak met his ears as if they were being amplified by surround-sound speakers. The rusted metal of the lights overhead creaked loudly as they swung around, mimicking the noise of a child rocking back and forth on a swing set. Along the back walls stood three large circular drains. The floors sloped down towards said walls ever so slightly, leading to a small, carved out canal for water to pool and run through, leading straight towards one of the three drains. The water seemed much louder than usual, the echoing splashes of each drop hitting below echoing through the large room.

Peter stared at the scene with furrowed brows, turning to hesitantly ask Max what was happening, only to freeze as he realized the man was gone as well. He was alone.

At least, he _thought_ he was alone.

The teen blinked, goosebumps forming along his arms as the tingling sensation at the nape of his neck began to scream, nearly making him wince in pain at the blaring pulse going through his brain.

Immediately sensing something was _incredibly_ wrong, the teen whipped around to race back to the elevator, only for a bright purple blast to rush forward, slamming into his chest and sending him careening backwards.

He tumbled along the dirty ground before coming to a stop, letting out a loud groan of pain as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Blinking back the tears of pain from the heat of the blast, Peter whipped his gaze around to try and pinpoint the location of the blast, only to pale and instantly freeze up in horror.

Sandra stood up along the catwalks positioned overhead, hands bathed in bright purple energy, her eyes reflecting the same hue. She wore the deep-black body suit with white trim that she only wore on missions and covert operations that only highlighted the intensity of the violet glow. The leapt up and over the railings of the catwalk and began to fall to the ground, thrusting out her hand as a wave of purple energy slowed her descent. She touched down silently and stared at the boy on the ground before her.

Curt crouched atop the subway car, eyes gleaming and lips spread in a chilling grin as he rose up while simultaneously removing his usual white lab coat. Clenching his fists together, his skin slowly began to sprout with small green scales that swam up and down his body, his muscles bulging and ripping before strapping themselves back together again. His grin became a snarl as his eyes took on a yellow tint until finally the Lizard stood before them. Like Sandra, he leapt off the car and down to the floor below, only his landing wasn't quite so silent. In fact, the very ground shook from the cracks he left in the cement where he landed.

Peter stared with wide eyes at the two before him, only to gasp as he felt the ground below him beginning to shift and move. He lifted up his hand and saw that the small specks of dirt were beginning to vibrate and swirl together. They flew out from underneath him and began to take shape next to Sandra, slowly building itself up higher and higher until it began to take the shape of a large burly man. Two bright green eyes flashed out at him from the mound of sand until two arms, hands and legs went to match. Finally, Flint stood his ground, his usual green shirt still in place as he flexed his newly formed hands.

Peter, who had quickly found the sense to move, leapt to his feet and stared out at the three before him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his hands shook at his sides. The tingling sensation had switched to full-blown waves of distress as he flicked his gaze back and forth between the three.

Wait. _Three?_

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a bright flickering blue light entered the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around, Peter reflexively took a few steps back as he noticed Max emerging from the darkness, trails of electricity flowing from limb to limb, matching the sparks that flew from his bright cyan irises. His suit was similar to Sandra's, trails of electrical lines etched throughout, containing the natural flow of his electricity. The man stared him down as he slowly made his way over to stand in front of the other three Cons.

_"Do you know why you're here, Peter?"_

His father's voice echoed throughout the entire Station, Peter's eyes flickering throughout the lab to try and pinpoint the man's location. The sound of heavy footsteps on metal made him look towards the catwalk again. Richard Parker slowly strolled along the walkway, eyes distant and calm. "You're here...because of this."

With that, Peter noticed the man casually toss something over the side of the railing. It fluttered through the air before falling a little ways away from Peter's feet. Still, it was close enough for the teen to see what it was.

A newspaper. With a picture of him and Mr. Stark.

The tingling could be felt in his fingertips, in his toes.

"You're here...because I'm _very_ concerned about you." Peter trailed him like a mouse watching a cat pace back and forth, his heart hammering so loud it was hard to hear what the man was even saying.

"You seem to be forgetting your place. A place I have so _painstakingly_ taught you about, taught you to _respect_ , to _obey._ "

The teen glanced back over at the Cons, who hadn't yet moved, although the Lizard's tail swished back and forth along the ground, the scraping noise it created grating Peter's ears. However, a loud bang made the boy nearly leap out of his skin and whip his gaze back towards Richard, who was now leaning over the rails and glaring daggers at the boy below him. "You're here because you seem to be in need of some... _refreshing._ "

Peter opened his mouth for the first time, noticing the staggered sounds of his breathing. "I...I-I don't-"

"Don't try and argue with me, Peter," the man murmured, straightening out his suit ever so slightly. "Discipline is a common factor in parenting. And in our _very_ special circumstances," he gestured around him at the Station. "...we require some _very_ special forms of discipline."

The Cons took a step forward. Peter took a step back. The tingling strengthened. He tried again. "L-listen...this is all...t-this is a-all just a big...misunderstanding."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. I'm sure it is," Richard nodded. "It's just...well, you can understand my worries now, can't you?" His voice was sweet and reassuring, like a man talking to a little boy about something clearly too complicated for a child to understand. "Everything I've taught you seems to be fading from your mind."

Was he breathing? He wasn't sure anymore. "It's not! I-It's not, I promise!"

Richard's eyes hardened. "What have I told you about that word?" he snapped, losing his temper slightly for the first time in their little conversation before taking a deep breath and sliding right back into a veil of composure, like he was hosting a business meeting.

The tingling was so strong he had to grit his teeth together.

"It means nothing, Peter. Nothing. The only thing you can be sure of is hard work and _discipline._ " Peter hated that word. "Discipline, my boy, is the backbone of success." The man let a smile fall onto his face and motioned to himself. "How do you think I got to where I am today? Everyone around me tried to break me, tried to bury me and dance on my grave. Lucky for me, I was strong enough to fight back. I was strong enough to pick up the pieces and build myself up better and stronger. But you...you are not."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned closer again, resting his elbows on the railing. "Still...you're my son and I won't let you be buried."

The Cons tensed their muscles.

Peter's heart stopped.

Richard raised his hand and pressed two fingers together.

"So I'll break you myself."

_Snap._

With that small noise, the Cons surged forward. Peter barely had time to blink, let alone dodge the sand-guarded fist that shot forward and rammed into his face.

" **And I'll make you stronger!"**

He shouted in pain and fell to the floor. Immediately snapping his eyes back open, he flipped out of the way of the claws that scored the concrete where he'd just been, pressing himself to the floor once more as a huge tail swiped overhead. Peter braced his arms and flipped back, landing on his feet as he slid backwards, hands held out to the approaching Cons, their eyes lighting the Station as the lights above them flickered on and off.

"Please..." he said softly, eyes heavy and tired.

It was no use. It never was. He wondered why he even tried anymore.

They didn't say anything. Max curled his fingers together and shot his arm out, a trail of electricity flying forward, illuminating the lab in fiery blue light.

Peter whipped to the side, the heat from the passing blast burning his skin. Crouching down to his knees at the second sand-covered fist that flew by him, he tried to wrap his hands around the outstretched limb, only for it to completely crumble away in his grasp, reforming around his arms, locking them in place.

He narrowed his eyes as Sandra whipped forward, hands aglow in bright purple light. He ducked underneath her fist, hands still restrained as he began to backtrack, the woman following with each jab and kick she sent forward.

She kneed him in the gut, causing him to double forward where she kneed him again in the face this time. His neck whipped upwards violently, only for him to steel himself and wrench his locked arms forward, hitting her underneath the chin and sending her flying backwards. The sand around his limbs dissolved at the force of the hit.

The teen didn't even have a moment to breathe before he felt Lizard's tail wrap around his midsection, lifting him off the ground. He grunted at the pressure, only to gasp and narrowly whip his head to the side right as another bout of electricity whizzed right by his ear. Gritting his teeth, he curled his leg back and kicked Lizard in the shoulder, causing the monster to drop him to the floor. Peter quickly slid underneath the creature's legs and leapt onto his back, ramming his elbow into the back of his neck.

The reptile roared in pain, his tail lashing furiously to try and unbalance him. The long limb wrapped around Peter's ankle, sending him flying backwards where he smashed right through one of the glass animal cages lining the back wall. He groaned and pushed himself back up, wincing as he felt the shards pressing into his palms and arms. He shook them off, ignoring the blood now bubbling up to his skin, only to be encased in violet light and hurled across the room once more. He slammed into the concrete and rolled along the ground before skidding to a stop by some of the tech equipment. Eyeing one of the metal staffs used for training, Peter quickly wrapped his fingers around it right as he felt himself being encased in the same energy again. Only this time, when Sandra drew him to her, he reared back and swung the staff as hard as he could.

The woman ducked underneath, but was distracted enough that her magic dissolved. Peter lunged forward, ramming the metal staff against her collarbone and pressing her down right as a huge boulder slammed into his side.

Miraculously, he kept his grip on the staff as he skidded backwards, kneeling down on the ground to catch his breath right as another boulder sailed through the air. Peter swung the staff forward again, breaking the rock into dozens of tiny pieces that scattered along the ground. He did this again and again for the second and third boulders that Flint created and hurled towards him, his arms aching from the force it took to shatter each rock.

Max leapt forward as Peter destroyed the last rock, electricity flowing throughout the man's entire body. Peter leapt over the man and whirled the staff in his hand, slamming it into the Con's shoulder. Max snarled and whipped around, firing a high-voltage blast right at the boy.

Peter side-stepped the attack and swung out with the staff again, Max ducking underneath the blow and right into the path of Peter's knee, which collided with the man's nose with a satisfying crunch. Max howled in pain and reared back right as the Lizard leapt forward to take his place, catching the underside of Peter's legs, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The monster pressed one set of claws down on the teen's chest as he snapped his teeth, the talons sinking into the boy's skin, blood bubbling up from the wounds.

Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and brought the staff up right as the creature lunged again, the bar catching in the reptile's mouth, preventing him from closing his jaws around Peter's face. The teen grunted and felt sweat beading down his cheek as the creature pushed against the staff, saliva dripping down from its teeth onto Peter's clothes, mingling with the growing red stain on Peter's shirt from where the creature's claws continued to sink into his chest.

Suddenly, the teen felt a violent course of white-hot electricity shoot through his body. He let out an involuntary scream as he lost his grip on the staff, Lizard shaking it free and snapping his jaws around the boy's shoulder. Choking back another scream, Peter jammed his knee into the reptile's gut and pushed with all his might, heaving the beast off of him, his teeth scraping against the bones in Peter's shoulder, ripping the muscle.

Hastily rising back up to his feet, Peter pressed a hand to his now-bleeding wound and glared out at the Cons standing before him. They cracked their necks and rotated their shoulders, throwing each other pleased grins and amused chuckled.

They were just getting started.

Peter could feel blood dripping down his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His eyes flitted up towards the catwalk. His father was gone, but probably still in the lab somewhere. He wouldn't miss this.

The teen's eyes then trailed down towards the elevator a little ways away. There was no way he was winning this fight. The only chance he had was to make it to the elevator, pray he could get out of the house intact and...and...wait for them to cool off? Was that even likely at this point? They didn't really seem angry. Just amused, happy even at getting to fill out an order.

That's what this was. An order. A job.

For a moment, the teen thought of Mr. Stark, wondered what the man would say if he could see him now. Could he go to Stark Tower? Find safe refuge there? Peter had to admit, the idea was tempting. But just as quickly as it had entered his mind, he was shaking it out. No, there was no way he was going to Mr. Stark with this.

His eyes flitted over to the Cons, their eyes flickering in bright glowing light.

It wasn't like the man would be able to help anyways.

No. He just had to reach the elevator and get out of the house. He could think of something to do once he was safely away from them. It was a crappy plan, he could already tell. But it was the best he could come up with.

He'd have to at least try.

Narrowing his eyes, he slid his feet against the concrete and curled his fists. The Cons must have noticed his silent signal, for they charged forward again. He slid underneath the purple blast and flipped out of the way of the pillar of sand that shot forward, leaping over Max's outstretched fist and rocketing underneath the Lizard's tail. His feet pounded against the floor as he set his eyes on the elevator.

Something latched onto his ankle, dragging him to the floor and pulling him closer to Flint and the Lizard. The teen growled and glanced around his surroundings, noticing one of the nearby steel tables. He wrapped his fingers around the leg and held fast, his leg jarring at the sudden movement. Flint narrowed his eyes and made a motion with his arm, the sand pulling harder. His ankle strained painfully, the teen's eyes widening as he caught sight of both Sandra and the Lizard rushing him. He let go of the table, the force of the sand whipping him forward.

He rammed into Flint and punched him in the face, leaping to the side as the Lizard leapt at him, the reptile dog-piling his comrade instead.

Peter jumped back up to his feet, only to receive a blast to the stomach. He fell to the floor and groaned, pressing a hand to his gut right as Sandra launched herself into the air, the energy around her crackling like fire. Her eyes burned as she zoomed forward. He ducked underneath her, grabbing her arm as she flew past and throwing her down.

She grabbed _his_ arm as he did so, hand burning with energy. The teen screamed as he felt it begin to burn through his clothes and into his skin, instantly stumbling back as the woman rose up to her feet. She landed back down on the ground and reached behind her, pulling out her signature knives, each about a foot in length. She twirled them around her fingers before running forward.

Peter ducked underneath one, the other slicing his cheek before he grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder. She was ready, however, landing on the ground carefully and twisting around, her legs wrapping around Peter's own. She rolled her body, her legs bringing the boy down as well. He grunted as he hit the floor, biting back a scream of pain as his shoulder landed awkwardly, twisting himself around the knife that now came for him once more.

It cut into his neck before he was able to block it, the sound of blood hitting the concrete meeting his ears before it was coming for him again. He choked down another cry of pain as he felt the knife stab into his thigh, Sandra ramming it through the muscle and twisting it in for good measure before he was able to swing his free leg forward, hitting the woman in the shoulder. She loosened her grip on the other knife, causing Peter to wrench it from her grip and elbow her in the nose. She reared back as a spurt of blood escaped, dripping down her face as she fell backwards. Peter quickly latched his hand around the hilt of the knife still embedded in his leg and yanked it out with a shout, tossing it away while keeping the other close to his chest.

The teen pushed himself back up, chest heaving and blood dripping from everywhere, his face, his leg, his shoulder, his chest. The warm, sticky substance greatly contrasted his pale complexion, like drops of blood in the snow. He could feel the energy draining away from him, the pain from his wounds slowly beginning to creep through him. His eyes trailed back over towards the elevator.

He had to get out and he had to do it now before he was too weak to escape.

He twisted the knife in his hands as the Lizard stalked closer, claws scraping the ground, tongue flicking in and out of his mouth. He let out a deafening roar before dashing forward, tail whipping. Peter ducked underneath the projectile and slashed at the monster's arm as he ran by, grunting as one of the creature's legs caught him in the side. He hit the floor and twisted around, barely missing the claws that racked the ground by his head, kicking up dirt and mounds of pebbles. The monster snapped its teeth at him, head darting in for another bite.

Peter tightened his hold on the knife and whipped his arm forward, the steel slicing across the Lizard's face, ripping through scales and skin. The beast roared in pain and stumbled backwards, Peter quickly skittering away from him as he heard the crackling of electricity in his ears once again.

Sucking in another painful breath, the teen gritted his teeth and gripped the knife in his hand tighter right as Max made eye contact with him. Peter narrowed his eyes as the man turned to fully face him. Well, as long as he was here...he might as well let out some well-placed aggression.

With a shout, the teen ran forward, Max coiling his muscles as the boy approached. The man shot his hand forward, sparks of electricity coursing through them. Peter, however, ducked underneath the blow and leapt away from the second one that followed, sliding under the man's feet before kicking his legs out from underneath him. Max went down in a heap, twisting around to face the teen who swiped the knife forward.

The steal sliced Max's outstretched arm, the man hissing in pain before glaring heatedly at the teen. He grabbed Peter's arm and tried to hurl him over his shoulder, only for Peter to hold tight, wrapping his legs around the man's midsection and twisting the knife around, jamming it right into Max's back, just below the shoulder blade. Max screamed in pain and stumbled backwards towards one of the back walls, ramming Peter into the hard concrete surface.

The teen grunted in pain and released his grip on the man, Max whipping around in fury. He curled his fist and punched Peter in the face, his head whipping to the side as the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his face into the wall again and again. Peter pressed his hands against the wall and pushed back, Max letting out a grunt as he strained to overpower the boy. Peter kicked his leg out backwards, catching the man in the shin.

Max stumbled backwards, allowing the teen to slip free from his grasp and sprint away.

He was close to the elevator now. Just a few more paces and he might just have a chance of getting out. However, a large wall of sand emerged in front of him, effectively blocking his path. He let out a small groan and turned back around. Flint glared at him as he curled his fist, the sand behind the boy surging forward.

Peter raised a hand, trying and failing to block the sand that blew past him, effectively blinding him. Soon enough, the entire lab was engulfed in the sand storm, which whipped and howled around him, leaving him practically deaf _and_ blind.

The teen whipped around, heart hammering as he tried to locate the Cons. Blood was beginning to soak into his clothes, slogging him down as he blinked his eyes, clearing the wave of dizziness that overtook him for a second. He could feel the breath in his chest stuttering as he heaved and panted. His hair was matted to his forehead from blood and sweat mingling together.

The elevator was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't _see_ anything! Before he could even _begin_ to estimate where his escape route was, a fist shot through the sand, ramming into his cheek. He grunted and stumbled backwards, catching himself from falling just in time. He lifted his head again, only for a bright purple blast to fly through the sand as well, hitting him in the leg.

He fell to the floor, catching himself on his hands right as a tail soared through and whipped his back. He collapsed to the concrete with a shout of pain, coughing violently as his breath seized for one terrifying moment. He couched and hacked again, blood dribbling down from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He absentmindedly wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, shakily pushing himself back up right as the sandstorm began to die down.

However, before Peter could find the Cons again, a hand was grabbing onto his arm and painfully wrenching it behind his back. .

Peter heard the electricity before he felt it, the sharp mechanical crackling that made his hairs stand on end. At first it felt like ice-water being poured over him, freezing his muscles solid and holding his body in place. Then the heat came. Peter didn't even hear himself begin to scream over the sound of fire coursing through his brain, burning his nerves and lighting his muscles aflame. He could nearly feel his bones splintering, the smell of burning flesh vaguely hitting his nose as white-hot waves of excruciating agony pierced his skin and tore through his very being, stealing the air from his lungs and tearing him apart from the inside out.

He could feel his legs buckling underneath him, but the grip on his arms remained firm, holding him up while simultaneously releasing wave after wave of electricity into his body, which seized uncontrollably in deep painful spasms in the man's grip. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, thrumming with the deep hum of electricity crackling around it.

And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Peter gasped for breath as Max released his hold on him, pushing him forward. The teen couldn't even finish inhaling before Lizard was leaping forward, whipping his tail _hard_ into the boy's side.

Peter's limp body went sailing through the air until he hit the concrete walls of the lab with a sickening _crunch_ before he fell to the floor in a heap...and didn't get back up again.

A muffled silence followed, the noises around him deep and garbled, like he was underwater. He tried to move his body, coil his muscles, get back up again. He was defenseless like this. He had to get up, he had to get out. He had to _move_!

But his body wouldn't respond. Every twitch of his muscles sent blinding agony through his core, making large black and red spots dance before his eyes, which were glazed and hazy. Though whether it was from pain or exhaustion, Peter didn't know. He could literally _feel_ the adrenaline beginning to leak from his body as if it were his blood, which was now starting to spread along the concrete floor, a deep black stain that stretched out from underneath his chest, growing in size with each passing moment. It was warm and sticky and quite uncomfortable.

He could feel the burning sting of his wounds rising to the surface as he tried to suck in a rattling breath. He could almost feel his chest caving in with each wheeze, his lungs burning as he tried and failed to calm his stuttering heartbeat. His head pounded, threatening to crack open right there from the pressure of each throb, matching in time to the frantic beating of his heart.

For a moment, Peter just laid there in the silence, cheek pressing into the cold concrete below. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing, on dragging in as much air as he possibly could, making use of the small respite he'd been granted. They were coming. He could hear their footsteps, feel the vibrations in the stone below him.

He breathed, opening his eyes and catching sight of his hand. It was in the pool of his own blood, flecks of red splattered against the white of his skin, pale blue veins visible on the bruised forearm. He blinked and flexed his fingers, watching them disrupt the steady flow of blood and sending small ripples through the pool. It was warm, sticky.

He breathed.

Suddenly, he felt two beefy hands wrap around his arms and hoist him into the air. His shoulder cracked and _squelched_ and he could feel his ribs grinding together. He gritted his teeth as a wail of anguish tried to bubble from his throat. Instead, all that came out was a harsh cough that made his chest rattle and blood dribble from the corner of his mouth.

Max and Flint were none too gentle as they held him up, his own legs too weak to support him. His chin hit his chest, dirty dripping strands of hair falling into his face, grime rolling down his forehead. He could hear more footsteps through the ringing in his ears and blearily lifted his eyes enough to make out the well-polished shoes approaching, coming to a stop in front of him. He shut his eyes again.

"I-if...you didn't want me...t-to be around him, then why did you...agree to the...the internship in the first place?"

Richard narrowed his eyes and stared at the boy in disgust. "Because we need to use you. Maybe not now, but eventually. We finally have an eye on the inside. And when we need you to cut the wires, when we need you to swipe the codes and steal the secrets, you'll be obedient. But this-" He thrusted the newspaper into his face. "...this better not get to your head." He tossed the paper down where it landed in the puddle of blood. The red quickly soaked through the pages, coating the print in black.

"He doesn't care about you."

Peter clenched his fists together. God, he was so tired. "You're lying!" He snapped with what little strength he could muster. "You don't know him."

Immediately, he felt Max drive a fist into his stomach, the teen gasping in pain before coughing up another bout of blood. His ribs shifted again. He breathed.

Richard sneered at him. "What? And you do? Look at you, Peter. He's already getting to you." The man folded his arms behind his back and began to pace back and forth. "You know the rules, Peter. Do you need me to repeat them? Don't you _ever_ forget where you belong." He grabbed a fistful of Peter's hair and wrenched his head up, neck snapping painfully as blearily eyes took in the sight of his father, the man's eyes gleaming maliciously as he growled. "You belong to me, you little rat. And that will _never_ change, no matter what men like Tony Stark say." He spat out the name like it was poison on his tongue before letting a contemptuous sneer fall onto his face. "He can't help you. He can't even help himself."

He roughly let go of the boy's hair, Peter's head falling limp once more. Richard turned away and began to walk off, only to pause as a small, pathetic little whisper of a voice met his ears.

"Why...do you do this? W-why are you so horrible?"

The man glanced over his shoulder before turning. "You think I'm horrible, Peter." His voice was calm, eerily so. "I'll tell you who's horrible. Those people." He pointed out towards the elevator. "Those people out there in the real world. They're horrible. They watch and they wait for you to fail and they pounce on you when you do. _They're_ horrible, Peter. Not me. Not when I'm willing to prepare you for what you're going to face out there, training you for what you'll inevitably have to do."

He narrowed his eyes and glowered at the teen, words sharp and deadly. "So don't you stand there and pretend that I don't care." He scoffed and gestured around him at the Station. "I care enough to train you, feed you, shelter you. I care enough to do this! To teach you the lessons you'll need to learn in order to survive. That to get ahead, you have to make the tough choices, that there will always be people around you who will try to break you, grind you to dust."

Peter could feel his body shaking. "So what? I'm just...s-supposed to break them first?"

"Something like that, yes."

Richard stared at the boy before letting out a long and tired sigh. He made some sort of gesture with his hand and suddenly Max was letting go of his arm, meaning the only thing keeping him upright was Flint's grip on his other arm. However, Richard walked forward and roughly grabbed onto his free wrist, staring the boy down.

"Fun fact, did you know that when a bone breaks..."

His stomach churned. "...once it mends, it mends _much_ stronger than before..."

Richard tightened his hold on the teen's arm.

"...so that it's that much harder to break."

He pulled his hand down, the bone bending along with them before finally snapping altogether. Peter strangled back a cry of pain, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his father released his hold on him. Flint did the same and he was suddenly falling to his knees, cradling his now-broken arm, eyes hazy and unfocused as he stared down at the blood soaking into his pants from the puddle below.

He breathed. His father continued.

"That, my dear boy, is human evolution trying to tell us something."

The man crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he stared at the boy. He reached out and carded a hand through Peter's matted hair, painfully tugging through the curls with his large fingers. "I know this must not make sense now. But it will in the future. Every order I make you follow, every rule I have you stick to. It's all for your betterment. To help you learn. Learn the lessons you would have learned later on in life in a more painful manner. Lessons that would have grinded you to nothing had you learned them in the future."

He moved his hand down and wiped Peter's tears away with his thumb, leaving a streak of blood on the boy's cheek. "I will break you, Peter, before the world has a chance to break you first. And from those little pieces, I will create something better, stronger." He let a smile fall onto his face. "See? I do have a reason for all of this. I do care. And do you know why I care?

"Because you're my son...and I love you."

More tears streamed down Peter's face. They were not of joy.

Richard stood back up and wiped his hands together. "Now...what do you say?"

Peter stared down at his knees, vice grip on his wrist bruising the skin pink. Drops of water dripped into the puddle below. He didn't look up.

"...thank you."

The man seemed satisfied at that, glancing up at the Cons standing around the teen. "Make sure he never forgets it," he muttered before walking towards the elevator and disappearing from sight.

Peter didn't remember much after that.

**. . . . .**

His eyes were open. At least he thought they were. It wasn't dark, but he didn't know where he was. Was he supposed to? It was blurry. Were his eyes okay? Were they still open? He blinked.

His feet were moving but his legs weren't. The ground was moving. It was gray and dirty and hadn't been cleaned in a while. His feet were still moving. How were his feet moving if his legs weren't. He tilted his head down slightly. He could see his toes scraping along the ground as they dragged behind him, trails of blood following in his wake.

Dragged. He was being dragged. Why?

He blinked again and tried to lift his head, finding it to be quite heavy. So he lifted his eyes instead, catching sight of two large men on either side of him. They were holding his arms, dragging him forward. They weren't saying anything. Was he saying something? He listened for the sound of his voice but was only greeted with the sound of scraping. What was that? He glanced down.

Oh yeah, his feet.

The hallway was long and barely lit. Peter could hardly see two feet in front of his face but as his mind cleared and the fog around his thoughts slowly dissipated, the teen quickly realized where he was going. Despite the sinking pit of dread that hung heavy in his stomach, he didn't fight Max or Flint, didn't struggle in their hold.

What was the point?

He tried to block out the waves of pain that thrummed through his body with each step the men took, roughly hefting his body in between the two of them. His clothes were soaked by now, hanging off of him in tatters, revealing pale flesh and deep red wounds. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping between his lips and down his nose.

He breathed. It was hard.

Eventually, the two men stopped, dropping Peter to the ground. He landed with a thud. His body screamed, he didn't. He didn't move.

Max approached the door before them and gripped the large metal locks fastened to the sides. Unbolting them, he heaved the massive door open, the large black maw of inky darkness spilling out before them.

Flint stooped down and grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt collar while Max held the door open. He breathed. He didn't fight.

As soon as they were inside, Max moved over towards the side of the door and flipped a few switches. Instantly the room was bathed in bright fluorescent lights that made the men squint their eyes.

The room was about the size of a small walk-in closet, with a sheer metal floor and one round circular wall that stretched up to the roof about twenty feet high. In the very center of the room sat a pile of chains, two clamped down to the floor and another two connected to the walls, each on opposite sides of each other. But the most striking thing about the room was the decorations. Covering the walls and leaving little room to see the actual metal surface stood thousands upon thousands of taxidermy butterflies, all encased in thin glass coverings flush against the walls - his father's life work from once upon a time.

The Terrarium.

The men wasted no time in dragging Peter towards the chains. The Cons never liked spending much time in the Terrarium. Said it freaked them out. They quickly latched the thick vibranium cuffs around Peter's ankles and dragged the chains attached to the walls closer. The chains were short enough so that Peter's arms had to remain in the air in order to reach the cuffs that clasped around his wrists, leaving him in a mandatory kneeling position with his arms spread wide.

The two men said nothing more as they stood and backed out of the room, leaving Peter alone as they shut the door behind them. Instantly the room was bathed in darkness once again save for the small lights below each and every butterfly case, giving off just enough illumination to light the displays, effectively making each and every butterfly visible and vibrant and impossible to hide from.

Peter could feel the blood beginning to pool once again, his shoulders instantly beginning to cramp at the awkward position they were being forced into, his wounded arm throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. For a moment, the teen just knelt in the silence, staring down at the ground before shutting his eyes only to jolt at the sudden electric shock that passed through him.

It was short and small and not even close to the levels of intensity that he'd already been exposed to but it was enough to keep him from falling asleep, which was exactly what it was designed for as it would repeat every few minutes.

The Terrarium was a classroom. A place to learn his lessons.

Peter dropped his head once more, chin resting on his chest which expanded painfully, ribs grinding against each other with each inhale. He stared at the puddle slowly beginning to form, the lights overhead producing enough illumination for him to see a reflection of himself in the liquid. His hair stuck up all over the place, his eyes sunken and red, a horde of bloody slashes etched into his white skin, the fresh tears streaming down his face stinging as they passed over the cuts. Blood continued to drip from the corner of his mouth, splashing down into the pool below.

The silence loomed, an oppressive ringing in his ears. It was hard to imagine that just a few hours ago he'd been enjoying himself in the company of Mr. Stark. He wondered what the man would think of him now.

He closed his eyes. The butterflies watched.

He breathed. He didn't want to...but he breathed.


	19. The Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Peter...tell me what they did to you."
> 
> He breathed, soft and fast. He could hear his heart hammering against the walls of his ribs, painfully loud in his ringing ears.
> 
> "I..." His throat was thick, the words sticking to the walls.
> 
> Tony didn't back down. This was it. This was the moment they'd been building to for the past two months. They couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to lay it all down on the table now. There was no going back.

**Date Unknown**

**Parker Residence - The Terrarium**

**Time Unknown**

It was the silence that really got to him.

After the first few hours, the muscles in his arms would go numb and he'd lose feeling in his knees as well. The lights from the butterfly cases allowed just enough light for him to see a few feet in front of him and his skin adjusted to the freezing temperatures after the first day. The electric shocks were a bit of a nuisance, keeping sleep just out of his grasp and leaving a steady thrum of uncomfortable tension tensing through his frozen muscles. But even those paled in comparison to the silence.

Ever since he'd acquired his powers, Peter had gotten used to the steady hum of noise that accompanied him wherever he was. Even in the quietest of classrooms he could hear the scratching pencil of the boy on the other side of the room, the breaths of the girl across from him and the heartbeats of the teens behind him. In his room, he could make out each honk of a car horn from a block away, the footsteps of people walking in the lab. Everywhere he went, there was noise. And despite the fact that, at times, it was grating both on his ears and on his nerves, he had to admit there was a sense of comfort in the constant murmur of voices, the hushed whisper of activity, letting him know that there were others around, people living and breathing right alongside him.

It was silent in the Terrarium. Utterly and horrifyingly silent.

It weighed heavy in the air, thick and suffocating in the freezing atmosphere. It dripped onto his skin like a poison, seeping into his bones and curing around his lungs, a toxic nothingness. It was a void, cruel and looming and bleak, sucking in everything and anything and leaving nothing in its wake. He could see it oozing from the walls, dripping down in thick black drops that spread along the ground and pooled underneath him, staining his clothes and stretching all around him.

He wondered how long it had been since they'd left him there. A few hours. A few days. He didn't know. There was no way to tell time. Even the electric shocks would come at random intervals so there was no way to determine how long it had been. Even if there was, Peter doubted he would have been able to figure it out.

His brain was thick and foggy, pulsing with the steady thrumming of pain that pounded against his skull and threatened to shatter it. Colorful spots had long since danced before his eyes and the uneasy waves of nausea had led to him vomiting long ago. He could still smell it on the floors, bitter and sour. The clicking of his eyelids with each blink was a small respite from the quiet, but they did little to clear his thoughts. Everything was jumbled, disorganized. At times, he forgot where he was and had to try _hard_ to figure it out (It took six shocks for him to remember.)

His stomach had long since stopped hurting and he couldn't even feel his throat anymore to tell how dry it was. He supposed he was lucky in that sense.

His body shuddered, an involuntary response that went off every so often. He closed his eyes, lids heavy and thick. A jolt went off. He opened them back up.

He couldn't take the sight of the spinning room so he stared down at the floor, brown eyes pale and glassy. The floor was stained in red and brown, the bile and blood having dried long ago, leaving large black smears all across the metal surface. It had long since stopped dripping off of his body, his clothes and skin now caked in the dried crimson.

It was itchy. He wished he could scratch it. He wished a lot of things.

As he stared at the floor, a small sound cut through the coat of silence, making him lift his head for the first time in who knew how long. It was quiet and delicate, like someone rubbing the tips of their fingers together.

Wings, fluttering wings.

Had he imagined it? No, it was definitely a sound, that much he knew. He'd been craving one ever since he'd arrived. His half-lidded eyes flitted around the room, but even _that_ was exhausting. He could only scan over a few of the butterflies before his head was dropping against his will.

He closed his eyes. Another jolt. He opened them back up.

Silence.

**. . . . .**

The fluorescent lights overhead came on with a sharp buzz, shrouding the room in fiery white light that made Peter shut his eyes against the blinding wave of burning pain. The loud creaking of the door opening slashed through the silence in loud shrieks of metal against metal. His ears rang. His head continued to hang.

He felt hands loop around his arms, undoing the chains on his wrists and ankles before he was being hoisted up and dragged out of the room. He let out a small groan and cracked open his eyes, watching the ground as it slowly slid past him. They didn't move very far before stopping, a hand coming to rest on the back of his head and grabbing a fistful of his hair, wrenching his neck up as his eyes took in the sight of his father.

They were still in the hallway leading to the Terrarium, the walls dark and gray with a few swinging lights overhead casting deep long shadows. His father gazed down at him, a calm gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of the dirty and delirious boy before him. His mouth moved and it took Peter a moment to realize the man was talking. It was garbled and muffled in his ears. He simply blinked at the man, face empty.

However, the sound of fingers snapping in front of his face had him finally jerking back into reality. "Guess it worked a little too well." He heard someone say behind him. A murmur of laughter. Richard silenced them with a look before turning back to the boy. "Well, Peter? Have you had enough time to yourself to think?"

He blinked.

Richard didn't seem to mind the silence. "Very well. In any case, I'd like to make myself clear. Your position is one of great importance, as I'm sure you know by now. Tony Stark is a wild card that we'd very much like to keep tabs on, which is exactly what you're going to keep doing. Whatever you have to to get that man to trust you."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "But just remember one thing, Peter. That man doesn't care about you. Not. One. Bit. So don't let him fool you into a false sense of security."

He knew he should have felt something at that. He wondered if he should be concerned over the fact that he didn't.

He blinked.

The man seemed satisfied at that, straightening back up as he smoothed the wrinkles on his suit. "Take him upstairs and patch up what you need to. You're going to school tomorrow so you better sleep while you can." He turned away, only to pause as he seemed to remember something, glancing back over his shoulder with a glint in his eyes as he reached into his suit. "Oh, and one more thing."

He tossed a newspaper down onto the ground where it skidded along the concrete until coming to a stop at Peter's feet. "Thought you might like to know."

**_ TONY STARK'S MYSTERY KID REVEALED! _ **

**_Stark Industries VS Parkstem Labs?_ **

He blinked.

* * *

**Monday - April 25, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**04:22 a.m.**

Peter opened his eyes to darkness and immediately thought he was back in the Terrarium. However, the dreaded feeling in his stomach didn't last long as he realized he wasn't on his knees but on his back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling of his room. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, as he was prone to do whenever he spent time in the Terrarium before slowly trying to sit up from the coarse carpet floor.

Instantly a fiery pain shot through his entire body, making him bite down _hard_ on his lower lip to keep from screaming out. He settled back down onto the floor and greedily sucked in a breath, ignoring the screaming of his chest as he did so. Now that he was slightly more aware of where he was and what was happening, he wished he wasn't.

His entire body was on fire. His shoulder and thigh throbbed with each beat of his heart, matching the pounding of his brain that thrummed just below his eyes. Every breath he took rattled his no-doubtedly cracked ribs and just the _thought_ of trying to move nearly made him vomit once more. He doubted anything would come up though. He glanced over towards his bedside table and made a note of the time on the clock, as well as the date blinking in the corner of the device.

_Monday._

Two days. He'd been in the Terrarium for _two_ days. He hadn't eaten, drank or _slept_ for two full days prior to the hours of sleep he'd just received then and there. At least, he had to _assume_ it had been a few hours, maybe even close to a day. That was usually how long they gave him to recover after confinement. His eyes fluttered over towards the door, where a small plate of bread and applesauce sat. The sight made him nauseous despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in so long. They must have forcefully poured some water down his throat as he slept, for he wasn't thirsty either.

For a little while, Peter just laid there on the floor of his room, listening to the sound of his own breathing and tracing the imperfections of his ceiling with his eyes, making note of each crack and bump of texture. An air of tension hung around him, heavy and thick. Each breath he took was a privilege, a prize he'd won, that much was certain. That much he'd realized in the Terrarium.

He didn't think too much of the Terrarium. He didn't allow himself to.

He turned his head and stared down at his arm, the majority of which was bandaged. However, the bandages stopped at his palm, leaving his fingers exposed. They were dark, stained brown. Trails of electrical burns traced their way through the skin, disappearing underneath the bandages, an intricate dance of thick lines and thin etches of slightly raised, reddish skin.

He knew he should feel something. Some sense of horror, or disgust at what had just happened, at what he'd just been through. He should be terrified, panicked, crying rivers. But all he did was stare at his fingers, gaze at the dried skin, the flecks of blood caked onto the surface, soaking into the fingerprints in detailed little grooves of soft rounded spirals.

Peter turned his head again, glancing over at the clock on his table once more, reading the flashing numbers. School was only a few hours away.

He hadn't done his homework.

Finally, the boy let out a sigh and slowly began to shift his muscles. He fought against the shriek of his body and managed to push himself into a sitting position with his back resting against the side of his bed. It was at this time that Peter realized he was shirtless, his chest and shoulder swathed in bandages just like his arm. Granted, they were haphazard and obviously done with the barest of care, but they were enough to allow the wounds to heal if only a little bit. Luckily for him, he'd been fairly well-fed before everything had gone down, meaning his healing factor had just enough juice to keep him from bleeding out in the Terrarium, but had little energy for much else, meaning his wounds would be _far_ from fully healed for quite some time.

His mind slowly and hazily began to drift over his father's words, eyes still trailing the newspaper that seemed to hang before his eyes.

They knew. Everyone knew who he was.

Peter Parker, son of white knight Richard Parker and heir to Parkstem Labs was hanging around the figurehead of his father's top competitor.

Phase 3. God, they were gonna have a field day with this.

Over the years, his father had kept him sparse in the eyes of the media. People knew who he was, but it wasn't being blasted on every bulliten and newspaper. At least...not _usually_. _Usually_ , Peter was barely ever mentioned. His father liked to keep most of the attention on himself, which Peter was immensely grateful for. The most the media would ever see of him was at charity balls and galas that his father would drag him to. It boosted his image having his happy, smiling son underneath his arm for most pictures.

Lucky for Peter, this meant it would be a lot harder for the media to find any information on him. Where he lived was a given but aside from that, his school and personal files were the main things that were commonly kept under lock and key by his father. He had a few days, at the most, before they found out, however. They always found out eventually.

Peter wondered if Mr. Stark was already starting to get flack for this.

_Mr. Stark._

Immediately, the numbness he'd begun to start feeling warmed and ebbed away as he thought of the man. In that moment, in that one instant, Peter wanted nothing more than to find the man and talk to him. He didn't know what he'd talk about. He didn't know if he'd talk about anything. Right now he just wanted to _see_ him, hear his voice, feel his hand on his shoulder or ruffling his hair.

He wanted it so bad it made his heart hurt.

But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't see the man right now, not like this. Because he just knew if he saw Mr. Stark, he'd completely lose it. He'd lose it right in front of him and he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't break down in front of the man again, not like when they'd first met in the lab. He wouldn't do it. He _couldn't._ Cause if he did, he doubted he'd be able to put the pieces back together again. And that meant his father would do it for him.

He shuddered.

No, he couldn't be around him right now. Not after everything his father had said to him, everything he'd revealed. He was just a tool, a pawn to use _against_ Mr. Stark. A weapon to use on him when the time was right, to _hurt_ him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a shuddering breath. He couldn't hurt Mr. Stark. But he couldn't disobey his father. The thoughts swarm around each other, battling for dominance in his brain before he banished both and quickly felt himself growing cold once again. He couldn't do this right now. He had to clean himself up.

So, after a few minutes of gritting his teeth and dragging up alongside the bed, Peter was standing. As soon as he tried putting weight on his injured leg, it buckled underneath him and he nearly fell back to the floor, thankfully catching himself on the railing of his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and found his footing again. It took another couple of minutes for him to finally shuffle his way into the bathroom.

The bathroom door began to swing closed behind him, only for him to shoot a hand out and grip the sides, nearly splintering the wood at how tightly he was holding on. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of being confined in another small room. He took a breath and gently pushed the door back open, eyes trailing it until he determined that it wouldn't close again.

He quickly made work of undoing the bandages, taking out the medical scissors from the drawer and gently cutting through the thick gauze. He carefully removed his pants, grunting as he brushed up against the wound on his thigh before gingerly sitting on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a few towers from the rack nearby and started the water.

He reached one of the towels in underneath the spray, allowing it to grow completely soaked before pulling it out and wringing it, leaving it damp but not dripping. He then began to slowly run the wet cloth over his skin, cleaning away the dirt and grime from his face, his hands, his neck. He winced as he felt the fabric rub overtop the cut on his neck but continued.

After cleaning the parts of his body that didn't contain any open wounds (which weren't many) with soap and water, the teen turned to the task of cleaning out the wounds themselves. He rested a new damp cloth on his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he began to apply pressure before moving on to his chest and his leg, which were the three worst areas.

He then leaned back over towards the towel rack and pulled out a small rectangular box. Opening it up, it revealed two sets of tweezers and a small bottle of medical-grade alcohol. It only took a little while for him to sterilize the tweezers and set to work picking out the little bits of debris and dirt lodged in the wounds. In his shoulder, he even found a small triangular tooth about the size of a quarter.

_Awesome._

He threw it in the trash with a grimace.

Setting the towels and tweezers aside, Peter gingerly rose back up to his feet, now wearing only his boxers as he moved back over towards the drawers as he pulled out a needle and some medical-grade thread. As he did so, his eyes drifted up towards the mirror. He paused in his movements and slowly straightened back up.

He was barely even recognizable anymore.

His skin had no color. Not even his eyes, which usually held bright big purple bags underneath held no semblance of hue other than the ashy gray of the rest of his skin. His nose, cheeks, forehead. All held the same pale shade. It was like looking at a corpse. In fact, the only color anywhere was around the wounds.

His chest was black and blue, deeply contrasting the white of his skin with the bright red of the claw marks. His shoulder held the same crimson hue, a large gash shaped like a semi-circle looping overtop the skin, large circular indents following the trail from each tooth that had sunken into the flesh. His thigh throbbed painfully, the long stab wound from the knife was only about two and a half inches long, but the skin was flayed and risen, purple and red mingling together.

Finally, along the rest of the skin, the same electrical burns and fractal scarring he'd seen on his fingertips trailed up his arms, just as he'd predicted, centering mainly on his wrists and wrapping around his arms, and snaking up his spine, like lightning bolts or the limbs of a hundred-year-old oak tree, spindly and stretching all across his skin, bright and puffy and red.

He stared at the sight for a while, lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed deeply, ignoring the sharp twinges in his chest with each inhale, face barren and eyes sunken.

It wasn't until he felt something wet sliding down his cheeks that he finally realized he was crying.

* * *

**Monday - April 25, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**07:01 a.m.**

" _We're finishing up another round of preliminary discussions regarding the Accords here in Washington, which should be done by tonight at the latest and - are you listening to me, Stark?"_

"Not really, no."

Ross let out a long, audible sigh, his projection bringing his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose as Tony smirked at the look of restrained annoyance on the Senator's face. He currently sat at his desk, glass in hand and feet propped up on the mahogany surface as he stared at the frustrated hologram before him. He had to admit, these mandatory on-call sessions were _much_ more enjoyable with a glass of scotch and a perturbed Senator.

On the desk sat a newspaper Pepper had dropped by earlier in the morning. He tried not to look at it.

The man continued nevertheless, voice notably more strained than before. " _We should be finished by tonight and ready to continue our meeting there_ in person _by tomorrow night."_

"Can't wait. Gotta say, a hologram just doesn't compare to the real thing," Tony said with a smile, holding the glass out to Ross. The man didn't seem very amused as he narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. " _This is serious, Stark. And I'll expect you to take it as such. These are matters of national security we're talking about. And you can be sure the matter of the Rogue Avengers will be a_ heavily _discussed topic."_

Tony hummed and took another sip from the glass. "No. Not happening. What _will_ be happening is me talking about the Accords with the rest of your _sane_ coworkers. So you can twiddle your thumbs in the corner while the grown-ups talk if you want. I'm sure I can have a chair set up for you if you'd like."

This time it was Ross' turn to smirk. "' _Grown-up?' Is that what you believe yourself to be?"_

Tony shrugged. "If not then New York is gonna have to lower its drinking age."

" _Make all the jokes you want, Stark. But it doesn't change the fact that these are life-threatening circumstances we have on the tables here. Those team-"_ He took a breath and corrected himself at the deadly look Tony shot his way. _"...EX-teammates of yours are nothing but trouble. Wreaking havoc and stirring up the local nut-jobs, like that Spider-Man character."_

Tony expertly hid the way his fingers curled by taking another swig of the glass. "What do you have against nut-jobs? Been looking in the mirror too often?" His face quickly grew more serious as he thrummed his fingers against the arm rest of the chair. Ross took notice of this. "Besides, Spider-man follows all the guidelines of a probationary hero."

_"He hasn't sighed the Accords."_

"The Accords aren't official yet. And they only apply to permanent international-level heroes."

_"He hasn't revealed his identity."_

_God, screw this man._ "Nor does he _have_ to." Tony was getting increasingly annoyed by this point.

Ross stared long and hard at the man before fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. " _You seem awfully concerned with this Spider-Man? Getting lonely up there in that Tower of yours, Stark?"_

Tony stared him down hard. Their eyes met and even through the hologram, the thick air of tension was near palpable as neither was willing to back down. He gripped the glass tightly, face serious. "Just like to have all my chips in a row."

Ross continued to stare at him before blinking. " _In there lies our similarities. We'll see you tomorrow, Stark. It'll be much harder for you to avoid me when I'm right there in the room with you."_

The man huffed. "Wanna bet? FRIDAY, end call."

With that, the projection instantly shut down. Tony let out a long sigh and twisted his chair around, turning to stare out the glass walls of his office and down at the city below as he often found himself doing nowadays.

It was much easier to watch the city from so high up, where everything looked so small and meaningless as the people below all went about their days, oblivious to the troubles of those around them. As he watched the people milling around going through their early-morning routines, grabbing coffee from the local shops, making the commute to work, jogging along the sidewalks, Tony couldn't help but think back to the only common New-Yorker that ever took up any space in his mind.

Peter hadn't come in on Friday.

He'd texted Happy late on Thursday that he was sick and that he'd be staying home from school and skipping his Tower visit that day. Happy had then gone on to relay this information to Tony, grumbling about how he was now the messenger to an annoying Spider-Child, but Tony had waved him off with a smirk and a pat on the head. Happy did not appreciate the gesture.

Upon getting the information, Tony had been a little confused considering Peter hadn't shown any symptoms of sickness when he'd seen him earlier that night. Immediately, the man had gotten an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he quickly chalked it up to silly paranoia. Even superheros got sick sometimes. Maybe the kid was just pushing himself a little too hard nowadays.

He glanced over at the newspaper on the desk, glaring daggers at the limp pieces of paper. According to Pepper, the story had broken late last from a small local news station and had quickly blown up from there. He was sure that if he turned on the news right now, it wouldn't be five minutes until he heard something mentioning it. He hadn't looked at any of the stories. He didn't want to see the angle they were taking it. Most likely, the media would split it down the middle, some focusing on Richard and questioning how he could allow his son to associate with his rival competitor, wondering if he was using Peter to spy on Tony, while others would lean more towards him, questioning why _he_ was focusing on his competitor's kid, wondering if _he_ was using Peter to spy on his dad.

One main thing held little doubt in his head: they all would think Peter was being used one way or the other. A pawn in a nonexistent game. Tony would have to try extra hard to convince the boy he wasn't should he be having any doubts. No doubt the kid would be stressed about this, as any sane person would be. The media storm was just beginning. It was already spreading. Soon enough, it'd be everywhere.

Tony was sure Richard had already heard about it, meaning Peter most likely had as well. In the upcoming days, it was going to be very hard for all three of them, not that Tony really cared how hard it was for Richard. Nevertheless, Peter wouldn't even be able to escape it at school with all his friends and classmates hounding him over it.

The billionaire let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. Phase 3, soon to be Phase 4. It was going to be rough, but hopefully it wouldn't last long. With everything that was currently happening withe the Accords, the Rogues, even those random tech robberies happening around the city that Tony was secretly keeping tabs on, the press had its choice of juicy topics to cover. Hopefully, this little romp wouldn't last more than a week or two.

But it was sure to be a tough week. He could already feel it.

Nevertheless, the man knew they were going to be okay, Peter was going to be okay. They'd prepared him for this. Still, it was going to be stressful so it wouldn't hurt for Tony to talk to him about it when he saw him today, a smile falling onto his face at the thought.

He found himself doing this more often, small smiles growing on his face when he thought of the teenager. It was hard not to feel just a little happier around the boy, despite his less than stellar situation. Maybe it was the fact that Tony was constantly surrounded by snooty, stuck-up assholes who either hated his guts and let him know it or hated his guts and covered it up by kissing ass all the time. Maybe it was the fact that he was starting to get tired of Pepper and Rhodey's constant lectures. Or maybe it was the fact that Ross' earlier statement held some sparks of truth.

Whatever it was, Tony honestly found himself enjoying being in Peter's company.

Nowadays, the teen always seemed to be ready with a smile and a gleam in his eyes. Despite the fact that he was still shy and soft-spoken, Tony always seemed to be laughing around the boy, Peter doing the same around him. It was...strange, to say the least. Then again, Peter was a strange boy. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Once again, the small twinge of guilt bubbled in his chest ever so slightly at the idea that he was getting more out of this than Peter himself, but he quickly pushed it back down. Peter was obviously doing better. He was happier, at least he _seemed_ to be. He was stuttering less and growing more used to small bits of physical contact (granted, Tony was always the one who initiated it.)

Tony glanced down at the drink in his hands, swishing it around and watching the amber liquid gently splashing up against the sides. His talk with Ross had left him feeling just a little more frazzled, which was saying something considering _frazzled_ seemed to be the one perpetual state he was constantly in nowadays. He could use a little bit of relaxation.

The guilt bubbled back up. He ignored it.

* * *

**Monday - April 25, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 3**

**07:34 a.m.**

The halls were empty when Peter finally made it to school.

Getting out of the house had been a challenge. The front stoops had been swarming with reporters, all eager to catch a glimpse of any of the house's occupants to hound them with questions and beg for comments. Peter knew the Cons would be annoyed, but his father wouldn't mind. He loved the media because they simply _adored_ him. He could do no wrong in their eyes.

No doubt he'd go down after breakfast and answer any and all of their questions with a pearly smile and a warm chuckle.

Peter, on the other hand, didn't feel like interacting with harpies. He didn't feel like interacting with anybody at the moment, but knew he didn't have much choice. So he simply crawled out the window, which was no easy feat considering the majority of his limbs had numerous freshly inserted stitches and he was currently running on virtually nothing in the tank.

Nevertheless, he'd made it to the subway in one piece, receiving a text from his father as he did so.

**I don't wanna receive any calls from the school, today.**

**I don't care what you tell them. Just make sure they believe it or there will be consequences.**

Peter had then turned off the phone, slipped it into his pocket and tried not to hurl.

He'd ignored the pointed stares of people in the car and pretended not to notice people snapping pictures of him. He'd hidden the bandages on his arms with a long sleeved shirt and baggy jacket with the hood currently up over his head to mask his face. With each passing minute and pointed stare, his hatred for the media continued to grow.

They just _had_ to make things extra difficult, didn't they?

Case in point, making it to school had been no easy task. Every step he took sent fire down his legs, which had buckled more than once on his journey there. Luckily each time he managed to catch himself on nearby objects. Now he just stayed by the walls just in case they wobbled again. His shoulder was throbbing again and his chest felt like it was going to explode. Not to mention the fact that a steady thrumming fear pulsed through him that somebody would accidentally brush up against his shoulder or jostle his broken arm.

Luckily the hallway was empty, so his fear couldn't be recognized right that minute nor could any students hound him with questions as he was sure they would have had he gotten to school in time for the early morning crowds that roamed the halls before first period.

Because of this, he limped to his classroom door in silence. He was currently over ten minutes late to class, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Everything was foggy and there as a constant steady ringing in his ears that made him grit his teeth and narrow his eyes to try and tone down the level of stimuli around him. He was only running on a few hours of sleep, a cup of water and a few bites of the bread he'd managed to keep down. He shouldn't have been surprised at the way the walls around him continued to spin.

At a shambling pace, he finally made it to the door. First period: AP Biology with Mr. Harrington.

He lifted his _unbroken_ arm and gave a soft knock on the door. He could hear the teacher's voice through the wood before it even opened.

"Ah, Mr. Parker. So glad for you to join us tod-" The teacher's words died down in his throat as he opened the door and took in the sight of Peter Parker before him. His hood was still up so from where the rest of the students were sitting, they couldn't really get a good look at him. But that didn't stop the murmur of excited whispers that began to rise up now that the source of all the media buzz was finally there to answer all their questions.

But from where he was standing, Mr. Harrington got a perfect look at the teen, more specifically his face.

Peter had done well to mask the bruises, a skill he'd picked up over the years. But there as little he could do about the skin itself, which was a deathly white, plastered over his nose, cheeks, everywhere. There was not one speck of color throughout the skin or his eyes, his usually bright brown irises covered in a pale glossy film, contrasted by the bloodshot lines. There as only one bandage on his face, surprisingly, a horizontal patch that crossed over the bridge of his broken nose. The rest of the scratches around his face were too small for bandages, but they _did_ add a nice splash of crimson to his otherwise dead cheeks and chin.

The teacher stared at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he tried and failed to find something to say.

Peter beat him to it, however, as he gingerly brushed past the man. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. Harrington." His voice was tiny and hoarse after two days of disuse.

Mr. Harrington watched as Peter wordlessly walked over towards his desk, straining not to limp and feeling slightly proud at how well he was able to hide it. He pointedly ignore the stares of Ned and MJ from their seats next to him as well as those from the rest of his classmates. A few students tried to ask him questions, mainly on whether or not the stories were true.

He didn't say anything.

Flash glared over at the teen from his seat, scoffing under his breath as he folded his arms over his chest. "What's the matter, Parker? Too good to answer a few questions, huh?" Michelle whirled on him, eyes gleaming. "Flash, do us all a favor and shut your mouth," she hissed, effectively making the teen as well as everybody else quickly back off. Michelle just had a way with that.

"Michelle..." Mr. Harrington called in a half-heated disapproving voice, but his eyes still remained on the student, who was now staring at the board like everything was completely normal. The man swallowed and hesitantly walked back over to the front of the room. It took him a moment to find his voice before he shakily continued the lesson, unsure and incredibly uncomfortable. After a few minutes, he was back into the lecture.

But the class was nothing but whispers now.

Peter pretended not to hear. He was getting good at pretending.

**. . . . .**

His phone must have buzzed in his pocket over twenty times in the span of the class period. He knew they were from Ned if the way the boy continued to stare at his phone and then pointedly at Peter was any indication. MJ merely doodled for the majority of the class, but Peter could see her sneaking sidelong glances his way throughout the lecture. Small pieces of paper landed on his desk every few minutes, which he'd just brush to the ground. He didn't read whatever was inside of them.

His stitches itched.

It was hard writing with a broken arm as Peter would come to find out. After the first ten minutes, he switched to his other hand. His notes suffered greatly, but he didn't really care. He had no idea what he was writing at this point, nor did he bother to check and reread them to see if they made any semblance of sense. It was something to do at least, something to focus on. He watched the lead press into the paper, leaving deep grooves and dark trails.

He traced the lines over and over again with his eyes, seeming the pencil shake ever so slightly in his non-dominant hand, leaving soft line strokes on the white surface, tiny little ridges and bumps from the unsteady grip. He could hear the scratching of the graphite rubbing painfully against the paper, mirrored all around the room with each open notebook and scribbling hand.

The chairs creaked as students shifted in their seats, papers fluttering as they moved their hands. Someone sniffed. The air conditioner turned on. His heart was beating, he heard it more than felt it. Something shifted near his ear, brushed up against his skin.

Wingbeats.

The pencil in his grip snapped in half.

A few people turned to stare at him. Ned reached out and tapped his shoulder. It took everything in Peter not to leap up and scream his lungs out. "Peter...you okay?' he whispered quietly.

Peter was saved from answering when the bell blared over head, ringing throughout the entire classroom.

How long had he zoned out?

Everyone jumped slightly before gathering their things and quickly making their way over to Peter's desk. However, before any of them could begin to question him, Mr. Harrington was clearing his throat. "Uh, Peter? Can I see you over here for a second?"

The boy glanced over at the teacher before slowly packing up his things and hoisting the bag over his uninjured shoulder. The teacher turned to throw a hard look at the rest of the students. "The rest of you hurry up and head on out. And close my door on your way out."

The low disappointed murmurings drifted through Peter's ears. He caught sight of Ned and MJ lingering back slightly, the last two students to leave the classroom. Mr. Harrington shooed them out, albeit in a much gentler tone of voice than he'd used with the rest of the class. His friends shared concerned looks before begrudgingly walking out, the door shutting with a soft click.

Peter shifted uncomfortably between one foot and the other, fingers drumming against the strap of his bag. "W-what did you...want to talk about?"

The teacher stared at him for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and making his way over to his desk. "Nothing." He sat down and pulled out his breakfast, a small bag of dry cereal.

The teen furrowed his brows and lifted his head. "Then...why-?"

"Figured you could use an excuse to get away from the crowd."

Peter blinked at him for a moment before letting a small smile slip onto his face for just a moment. "Thanks," his voice was still coarse. He could hear it in the soft graveling.

The teacher set the bag down and leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees. "Are you alright, Peter?"

"Fine. Why?" His voice wasn't defensive, but curt. Tired.

Mr. Harrington gave him a disbelieving look. "You...you look pretty sick, son."

Peter shrugged his shoulders, masking the grimace as he felt his stitches shifting. "It's been a pretty stressful couple of hours for my family."

It made sense considering everything that was currently buzzing around the city, but something about it didn't sit right with the teacher. He ignored the prickling anxiety and gave a small nod of his head. "I can only imagine as much. But if you're not feeling well then maybe-"

"I feel fine."

The man furrowed his brows, not convinced in the slightest and watched the teen shift onto his other leg. He seemed to be favoring one over the other.

It wasn't unusual for Peter to walk into his class not looking his best, usually with bruises or bandages, commonly connected to some excuse or another about lab accidents or trips down the stairs or into door jams. And for the most part, Mr. Harrington was willing to let them slide for Peter never seemed to be in too much distress when he told the teacher such stories. They were always accompanied with a reassuring smile and a dismissive wave of the hand.

But today no such smiles were on the boy's face. His voice was light, but still held the soft notes of disuse. His eyes were pale, almost vacant. He knew the kid had to be stressed with everything that was happening in the news. He knew he had no idea the kind of pressure his student was facing, but still...something was wrong. He could just _feel_ it.

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

The teacher gave a small nod and Peter began to make his way over towards the door. "Thanks again...f-for clearing them out."

"...no problem."

However, Mr. Harrington was quick to stand and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, noticing immediately when Peter grimaced and scrunched his eyes shut. He retracted the hand. "Peter, I...I just..." His tongue seemed to tie around itself. "If you ever need to talk...about _anything_...my door is always open."

Peter stared up at him, blinking large brown eyes. Mr. Harrington couldn't read the look on his face. Before he could say anything else, the teen was turning and hoisting the bag higher up onto his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He didn't wait for the teacher to respond before he walked out the door...and right into the clutches of his friends.

The normal joy he would have felt at seeing them was nothing but frustration now. How many people was he going to have to lie to today?

For a moment, the three just stared at each other, the loud rumblings of the students passing around them echoing through the halls. They were on break, meaning they had eight minutes until the bell for next period rolled around. Meaning Peter had to dodge their questions for the next eight minutes.

Luckily for them, nobody seemed to have noticed Peter's presence yet, so the three of them were able to slip around the sea of students and make it outside on the front steps leading up to the entrance to the school. Only one or two kids were outside, the majority of them engrossed in their phones or not caring enough to make a fuss about Peter being there.

As soon as they were alone, MJ folded her arms over her chest. "Alright, Parker. Start talking."

Ned, always the pacifist, decided to take a bit of a gentler approach. "Peter...what happened to you? You didn't show up to school on Friday and today you look, well..."

"Like Death came knocking on your door at three in the morning and punched you in the face."

Ned grimaced. "Something like that."

Peter didn't meet their gaze. He stared at the floor, counted the cracks in the cement. Five long ones, two short ones. "Nothing's wrong, guys."

Michelle scrunched her face. "Do you _think_ we're stupid?"

"No, of course not. I just...I'm just tired."

Ned shook his head, face growing more and more concerned. "I've seen you look tired before, Peter. This isn't it. Something's wrong. I can just tell. Something's _really_ wrong."

"No, there _isn't_." He started counting the stairs themselves. There were seven, all a light cream color that had darkened with age.

"Is it the news story? Cause I know it's pretty bad but it'll die down eventually."

"I-"

"Did Stark do something? Did he say something to you?"

"No, I just-"

"Was your dad angry about the press?"

"GUYS!" He finally shouted, glaring up at them before taking a breath and feeling the look whither into a more pathetic pleading gaze. "Please...I said I'm fine."

Michelle wasn't swayed, however. Her face tightened. "Yeah, we know. We heard you, and we still don't believe you."

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "MJ..."

"No, Ned!" She shouted back, shrugging his shoulder off and glaring down at the shorter boy. "He can't just waltz into school looking like he's three seconds from passing out and _not_ expect us to be conc- to not say anything." She tried to reposition her mask of indifference, but it didn't work. Her worry practically oozed out of her eyes.

Peter let out a sigh and gazed back up at them, eyes hard. "Look, you wanna know what happened? I went home on Thursday. I didn't feel good. I stayed home the next day and slept in. I still didn't feel good. This damn news story broke on Sunday and now my dad's annoyed, the Cons are grumpy and I still don't feel good. That's it. End of story."

MJ didn't look satisfied. Neither did Ned for that matter, but it was the girl to first voice her doubts. "Uh-huh? So...what's with your nose?"

"I ran into a door jam."

"The bandages on your arm?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"The scar on your neck?"

"I spilled a pot of water."

" _Peter!_ " MJ shouted, throwing her hands into the air. Peter flinched back at the yell, eyes firmly glued to the girl's shoes.

They were blue.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?! It's just excuse after excuse! And the worst part is you're acting like you want us to actually _believe_ them! I mean, what's next? You fall off a moving truck and get run over by a bulldozer? Is that what you're gonna say tomorrow when you come in and your face is black and blue and you're in a wheelchair?"

Peter swallowed, his throat dry. "What do you want me to say, Michelle?" He didn't use her first name often. If she was surprised by it, she didn't let it on.

She stared at him, hands fisting the legs of her pants tightly, pulling at the fabric as she let out a small huff, eyes glancing away for a moment before gazing back at him, full of something Peter couldn't identify. "I want...I want you to tell us the truth. I mean, don't you trust us?" Her voice was small, quiet, so... _unlike_ Michelle. Peter felt something in his chest. He was pretty sure it was guilt.

Ned stepped forward at this, seeing that both of his friends were beginning to get agitated. He moved closer and Peter threw him a wary look. The shorter boy raised up his hands in a placating manner, showing he wasn't going to try and touch the boy. It was obvious Peter wasn't ready for it right now. "Peter, listen. I know you're going though something right now...and I know you're scared."

The taller boy shifted on his feet again. His nails were beginning to dig into his palms, the pinch of pain keeping him grounded, level. Ned continued. "But you can talk to us. Please, we're your friends. We only want to help you. And we can't do that when you keep shutting us out." Ned took another step closer. Peter took one back. His head swam, his shoulder throbbed and his arm hung limply by his side, unable to move. "Please, just...tell us the truth. What do you feel?"

Peter lifted his head at that, staring his two best friends down. Ned's face was one of anxious energy as he wrung his hands together and bounced on his feet. He never was good at containing his emotions, both the good and the bad. He stared at Peter with soft eyes, exuding comfort and sympathy and everything that made Ned who he was. Michelle's face held something different. Anger? Regret? Whatever it was, it looked like she was in pain. Maybe she was.

His breath stuttered, startling him into a jolt. His eyes flickered in between the two teens, each of which were worrying themselves sick over him, because of him. He'd done this to them. He was _doing_ this to them. His stomach churned and his head gave another vicious pound, this one making him wince and blink his eyes _hard_ to clear the blurriness that had encroached.

They were still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"I-I...I feel...like...I'm gonna-" He wasn't able to get another word out before he was rushing over to the trash can behind Ned and Michelle. The two teens stared with wide eyes as Peter hurled into the garbage, thin shaking frame leaning over the can like his life depended on it. Each wave was more violent than the last despite the fact that his pitifully empty stomach didn't have much to reject. After only two bouts of vomiting, he simply began to dry heave.

Ned began to move back over towards the door as Michelle moved to the can to hover over the boy. "I'll get the nurse."

"NO!" Peter shouted, instantly whipping his head around to stare at Ned only for the rapid movement to make his head spin. He gripped the sides of the trash can tightly, the metal denting slightly underneath his hands. Thankfully, Michelle didn't notice as she scrunched her eyes at the boy, who shook his head. "No. Please...please don't."

The girl moved her hand out to touch Peter's shoulder before thinking better of it. "Peter, you need to go home-"

Peter lifted his head again and glared at the both of them, eyes burning with something they'd never seen before. "You want the truth?!" he spat. "Well, the truth is if I go home, they're gonna kill me! They're gonna pound me and break my _other_ arm! The truth is I want you to leave me alone!" The words were hot and angry, the boy's face flush as he seethed. Both Michelle and Ned could only stare at him, blinking in silence. Peter had never once snapped at them before, leaving them stunned and unable to speak.

Peter, however, quickly reigned in his anger and dropped his head, gritting his teeth together as he sucked in another breath. "Please...please, before I say something I'll regret...something I don't mean...please, just...just leave me alone." His voice tapered off, breaking at the end as he let go of the trash can and sank down onto the top step. He sat and cradled his arm close to his chest.

God, he was tired.

. . .

. . .

"Your arm's broken?"

He shut his eyes. He couldn't do this again. "MJ, please..."

He suddenly found he wasn't alone on the step anymore as the girl plopped down next to him, face holding its usual look of stoicism and disinterest that he'd come to know as Michelle. "Your arm's broken and you didn't even put it in a sling, you moron. Do you want it to set wrong?"

Before he knew what was happening, she was taking off her jacket. It was her usual dark green jacket that she wore everyday. She carefully moved her hand forward, gesturing towards one of Peter's arms with a questioning look. He nodded, signifying that it was the right arm before she was gingerly picking it up. He winced, both in pain and discomfort over the touching itself. Without a word, she was wrapping her jacket around the forearm, securing it snugly into a makeshift pouch before looping the arms of the jacket around his neck and tying them together. Her fingers brushed the fractal scars. He let her trace them down to the nape of his neck before she was shaking her head and pulling her hand away. In this time, Ned had made his way down to sit on Peter's other side.

Peter stared forward, watching the road as the cars drove by. "I can't wear it too long. Too many people will see me with it and ask questions."

Michelle said nothing for a moment, seemingly adjusting to the news she'd received, news she'd suspected for a while but had never gotten confirmed until just then. She wet her lips and stared out at the road alongside the boy. "Just wear it for a few hours. You can give it back to me at lunch."

Peter blinked and glanced over at her. "I..."

She stopped him, shaking her head. "Don't thank me. Just...just don't." Her voice was empty. There was nothing to thank her for.

So he didn't. His friends didn't feel better. He didn't either. They just sat there on the steps in silence, watching the cars drive by until someone came to collect them.

* * *

**Monday - April 25, 2016**

**Location Unknown**

**10:43 a.m.**

"Are we completely sure we aren't just wasting out time here?"

Natasha sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Clint-"

"No, don't get me wrong. I love taking down manufacturing plants with the threat of federal imprisonment breathing down the back of our necks and forty-year jail sentences dangling in front of our eyes but are we really making a difference here?"

The archer currently sat at the makeshift table they had set up for themselves in the center of the warehouse, arms folded over his chest and he glanced around at the others. Natasha stood over by the wall, polishing one of her guns while Wanda meditated in the air near her and Sam and Scott sat next to Clint around the table.

Wanda's face scrunched from where she hovered, letting out a long sigh as she opened her eyes and threw them a bored look. "Not _again_ with this..."

"You know, he's got a point." Sam murmured from his seat. "Every plant we take down, another seems to just pop right back up to take its place."

Natasha's eyes narrowed as she continued to run the cloth through the mechanisms of the pistol, the others eyeing the weapon cautiously as the woman spoke. "So what? You're suggesting we do _nothing,_ then."

Sam sighed and ran a hand down his face. "No, of course not. But obviously what we're doing right now just isn't good enough."

Scott, who was organizing the pack of cards on the table surface, looked up from his work, fingers running along the edge of the card. "So, what's the alternative then?"

"I might just have one."

They turned towards Steve as he approached. His arm was raised, hand gripping a now-vibrating phone. They all moved over towards the table as he placed the phone down in the center and accepted the call. "Hill, talk to us. Tell us you found something we can use."

There was a beat of silence before they got a response. " _I've been doing some research into the weapons you've confiscated so far and I've found something that might just help you out."_

Wanda took another step closer. "What is it?"

" _Four years ago, after the battle of New York, there was alien weaponry everywhere. And I mean_ everywhere _. Of all kinds too, with different power cores as energy sources. When clean-up began, Damage control devised a system. And since nobody knew much about the alien cores to begin with, least of all how the different alien cores would respond when stored with each other, they created a clean-up order where weapons with certain energy signatures and power cores would be stored in the same storage area."_

Clint leaned forward in his seat. "Hill."

_"Yeah?"_

"What the hell are you talking about?"

An exasperated sigh could be heard on the other end before she continued, voice snappier than before. " _Look at the weapon you all still have."_

Sam stood up from his seat and glanced over towards the back wall, where the loading rack sat. Atop one of the tables was a sizable lump, concealed with a thick brown tarp. Quickly jogging over, the man removed the tarp, revealing the numerous alien weapons they'd decided to save in their possession for examination. Each were constructed of thick shining plates of fused metal and bright purple electrical lines that winded throughout the entire device, leading to a larger glowing mass in the dead center of the weapon. Carefully picking up one of the larger guns, he walked back over towards the table and set it down.

Cap spoke up once he did. " _Alright?"_

_"See that bright purple power source?"_

"Yeah?"

_"That's the core. All of the alien tech has it. It's what makes them so dangerous. Take out that core and add a little radiation and you have a ticking time bomb that can take out a city block in the right conditions."_

Their eyes all trailed down to the gun, muscles coiling and stomachs filling with dread. Just how much raw power was being distributed throughout the city, power that could kill hundreds of thousands if used incorrectly?

Steve was the first to speak again, glancing back down at the phone. "What about this particular core?"

_"All of the weapons you've retrieved so far share this same core type. Damage Control calls it C-13. And all alien weapons that share a C-13 core are stored in a DDC storage facility in Washington DC."_

Clint leaned back in the chair, pressing his tongue into his cheeks as he spoke. "Alright, so they're obviously acquiring their parts from this facility."

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Question is, why would they go through the trouble of stealing from the DC division of Damage Control when there are closer DDC storage facilities for them to access?"

"Better yet..." Natasha murmured, setting her gun down and tossing to lay across her shoulder. "...how are common street thugs and gangbangers overpowering and taking over government-run and protected armored trucks without anybody noticing?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, eyes hardening as he glared at the gun sitting in the table, the violet glow pulsing in short intervals that illuminated the air. "There's something more going on here. And I think it's time we found out what." He reached out and grabbed the phone off the table. "Hill, thankds for the info. We'll keep you updated."

_"Don't get blown up...or arrested."_

Steve rolled his eyes before ending the call, setting the phone back into his pocket before dusting his hands off and turning back to the rest of the team. "Everyone get prepped. We're gong to DC."

Their eyes widened at the announcement, Clint and Scott both sharing incredulous looks with each other. The former stood up from his seat, looking ready to protest, only for Natasha to grab his shoulder and give him a hard look. He glared right back and began to speak to her under his breath, the two assassins going off to the other side of the room, whispering furiously.

The others, however, remained around the table, watching as Steve pulled something else out of his pocket and began to fiddle with it. Sam exchanged confused glances with the rest of the team before clearing his throat. Steve didn't look up from whatever it was he was doing. "And just how do we plan on getting there? Something tells me we aren't going to be allowed on any trains for the time being and my car got repossessed months ago."

The Captain continued to fiddle with the device, speaking as he did so. "It helps to know the right people. And lucky for us, a certain royal family seems to have grown quite fond of us."

He held up his hand once more, revealing the communicator in his grip. It crackled for a minute before a high-pitched accented voice cut through the silence. The excitement in her voice wasn't hard to miss. " _Heard you're going on a trip."_

Scott sighed, tossing a hand up into the air. "Sounds like it."

Cap angled his head towards the communicator. "Shuri, we don't have a lot of time with this. What do you got that's fast?"

There was a moment of silence. _"Depends."_

"On what?"

_"How strong are your stomachs?"_

* * *

**Monday - April 25, 2016**

**Building 2 - First Floor Boys Bathroom**

**2:28 p.m.**

There were 195 tiles that made up the ceiling of the boys bathroom. Peter was sure. He'd counted thirty-two times.

He wished he could say the day had improved after his talk with his friends, that he'd started to feel better. But the stares had continued, the whispers had hovered. In the hallways he'd literally brushed up against the walls trying to stay as far from the other students as possible. But there were still a few instances where a rushing teen had brushed up against his arm or knocked into his shoulder, making him stop and lean his head against the lockers to manage the pain before starting on his way again.

Eventually, the constant eyes and low buzz of words had begun to get to him. By lunchtime, his friends and some of the Decathlon members attempted to keep the worst of the crowds at bay. The first half of lunch, Michelle and Ned made him choke down a few pieces of fruit and a quarter of a sandwich. The last half of lunch he spent in the bathroom puking it back up. It was obvious something was _definitely_ wrong, but Peter continued to wave off their concerns, saying he would eventually gain his appetite again and that it was just stress.

They sat with him in the bathroom after that, not bothering to go back to their table. None of them felt like dealing with the crowds again and Peter had to admit the cool tile of the bathroom floor was somewhat relaxing. Eventually the bell had rung, but the thought of going back and being around his prying classmates had made the teen feel nauseous again. Michelle didn't suggest he go home again, instead offering to skip class with him and Ned to head down to Delmar's to relax.

Peter thanked her for the offer but declined, knowing Michelle had a report due in one class and Ned had a presentation. He'd already messed with their day enough. It took a lot of convincing, but finally he'd been able to convince them to leave him there with the promise to answer their texts whenever they shot him one along with the threat of Michelle to come back down there if he didn't.

So that was how he found himself sitting against the wall of the handicapped stall in the boys bathroom, injured leg splayed out in front of him with his other bent up close to his chest, balancing his bandaged arm on his knee as he stared up at the tiled ceiling.

The bell had rung nearly ten minutes ago but still Peter remained. He'd gotten texts from both MJ and Ned asking him if he wanted them to walk him home. He'd declined once again. He didn't really trust himself to be around them at the moment, not after that morning. Everything was starting to become too much for him and it was beginning to bubble over onto his friends.

They didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve any of this.

So he sat and he waited as the hallways cleared out, students rushing to get home, pushing and shoving their way through.

Peter glanced down at his phone, which sat on the floor next to him. No new texts had come through, meaning his friends must have reluctantly abode by his wishes and gone home without him. He glanced through at the other texts he'd sent recently, eyes catching Happy's number.

He found the texts that had been sent through his phone on Thursday night saying he was sick and wasn't going to the Tower the next day. His father or one of the Cons must have sent it out. He had reluctantly followed in their footsteps and shot out a similar text a few hours ago. His excuse this time was something or other about a school project he had to work on. He didn't really know, Happy hadn't responded either way so he figured the man bought it.

Once again, the urge to see Mr. Stark flared back up in his chest, but he quickly pushed it back down. He thought back to that morning. If he'd been that unstable around his friends, imagine what might happen if he was near Mr. Stark? The things he might say, might reveal.

He couldn't afford it.

Peter sat for another few minutes before deeming it safe to head out. It took him longer than he cared to admit to get up from the floor. With a few shambles and grimaces, he was walking out the door. Thankfully, the halls were near empty save for a few groups of students casually walking to their cars or teachers milling about with their coworkers.

Nobody spared him a glance as he limped to the door, no longer needing to hide the weakness in his leg. He pushed the doors to the front entrance open and slid out, glaring down at the steps like they'd personally offended him before blowing out a huff and slowly hopping his way down.

"Bout time you showed up!"

Peter was so startled, he nearly toppled down the last step, catching himself just in time with the stone walls before whipping his head up and making eye contact with the last person he wanted to see right now.

Mr. Stark smirked from where he leaned against the side of the car, raising a hand to remove the sunglasses from his face. "Thought you might have been kidnapped or something. Nice dance moves there, by the way."

Peter said nothing for a moment, simply staring at the man with wide eyes as he contemplated maybe just sprinting down the sidewalk and booking it to the subway before the man could catch up with him. But considering the look of the most likely _expensive_ sports car and his banged up legs, he doubted he would make it very far.

The billionaire didn't seem to mind filling the silence himself. "What took you so long anyways? Happy said you're usually the first one out those doors."

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his pants so tightly he was surprised they didn't rip. Blood was rushing through his ears and he was surprised he could hear anything over the roaring. He must have given off a look of distress, for Tony furrowed his brows and straightened back up. "Kid?"

Knowing he had to at least say something, Peter sucked in a breath and hesitantly moved closer. "S-sorry. I, um...I was...t-talking...to a teacher about...about something." The words were janky and haphazardly cut. _This_ Tony noticed, for he quickly moved closer. "You alright, Peter?"

"Fine." He stepped back, ducking his head to the side as he tried to avoid the billionaire's piercing stare. Tony didn't say anything for a moment as he looked the boy up and down before taking a step back. "Right, well you coming or what?"

Peter lifted his head and stared at the car he was gesturing to. Somehow he found his voice again. "I...I texted Happy. I-"

"I know, I know." The man waved his hand with a smile. "We're not going to the Tower. That place is swarming anyway. You have no idea how many reporters I had to dodge just to get out of there." He chuckled, obviously expecting Peter to do the same. He didn't.

"Right...well, I needed a bit of a break from the chaos and I figured you might need the same." He moved to stand around the other side of the car. "Come on. This won't take too long." He got into the driver's side without another word. Peter flinched at the sound of the car door closing. He glanced sideways towards the street. Was there any way he could convince the man otherwise? Convince him to just leave him alone?

He jerked his head back as Tony leaned across the seats and opened the passenger door from inside the car. "Well? I haven't got all day, you know"

Peter swallowed the growing lump in his throat, stomach knotting up once again. "I...um..." He tried to form the words, politely decline and be on his way. Just turn and walk down the street. But he couldn't force them out. It was like they were lodged in his throat, choking off his airway and making him dizzy. Finally, he just settled for nodding his head and cautiously settling inside the car, if only to sit down to avoid the danger of passing out in front of the man.

 _That_ wouldn't end well.

With that they were off, pulling away from the curve and jumping onto the busy street.

Peter's hands rested in his lap and he had to fight hard to keep them steady. His foot, however, was thrumming up a _storm_ bouncing against the floor of the car about as fast as a hummingbird's wings. His eyes remained glued to the window, refusing to glance over towards the billionaire next to him, who he just _knew_ was giving him strange looks.

Tony watched the teen, feeling a full wave of confusion continuing to crash into him with each little mannerism the boy displayed, habits he hadn't portrayed in just about two months. He was jittery, an air of nervousness surrounding him as he stared out the window. Not to mention the fact that he was _stuttering,_ almost as badly as when they'd first met!

_When the hell did this happen?_

Tony quickly squashed down his panic, simply summing it up to nerves over the media storm brewing in the background. Of course! Anybody would be panicking, especially a fourteen-year-old boy who was prone to nervousness. That's what it had to be...right?

He had to admit, when Happy had come into his office earlier in the day saying Peter had cancelled _again_ , he had been shocked and somewhat perplexed. Peter's reasoning had been something about a project he had to work on, which Happy hadn't found much fuss in. Tony, however, immediately felt something off. Peter had been doing his homework at the Tower for months now with no complaints, plenty of projects and papers that he'd mumble and complain about under his breath while Tony tinkered next to him, snidely bragging about his adulthood and consequential freedom from said assignments.

The more he thought about it, the more it was starting to sound like excuses. But excuses for what?

"You sure you're okay over there, kid? You're being awfully quiet." And it was true. Usually, Peter would be talking his ear off by this point, rambling on about something or other, something exciting that happened at school or a project he was working on or questions upon questions about what _he_ was working on back at the lab. But today, he was oddly silent.

Peter threw him a quick look before instantly averting his gaze. "S-sorry..."

The unsettling feeling returned to his stomach. "It's...no problem, kid. You know it never is..." Peter hadn't apologized for something trivial in a while.

The boy gave a shaky nod of his head. "R-right...right."

Tony decided not to say anything else after that, afraid of what the boy might say or display. Instead, he reached over and turned on the radio. His mind didn't register what was playing, nor did he really care enough to find out. At least it was something to fill the silence.

Another unnerving feeling...he hadn't felt a desire to fill the silence in a long time. He glanced over at Peter.

Something was definitely up. And he planned on figuring out what sooner rather than later.

**. . . . .**

Peter got out of the car and stared up at the trees stretching up to the sky, closing the door with a soft _thud_. It had been a long time since he'd visited Central Park.

He noticed Mr. Stark already walking away and hastened his stride to follow behind him. His leg twinged in annoyance but he ignored it in favor of lagging after the man, who didn't seem to be in any particular rush to get anywhere. He simply shoved his hands into his pockets and began to walk down the stone pathway.

Around them, the trees loomed, thick black branches stretching up into the sky. With the month of April also came the blooms, bright and pink and soft, dotting each and every dark branch in a cape of baby pink flowers, blotting the sun and dotting little spots of light onto the stones below. They billowed in the breeze and fluttered to the ground in small little swirls. The grass rustled with each breath of wind and the soft creaking of the branches above filled the air. Around them, a few people jogged past or walked their dogs or chatted idly on the benches scattered around the park. Nobody payed them much mind, for they didn't glance their way long enough to make out who they were.

"So how're you getting along, kid?"

Peter jumped, not having been expecting to be pulled into sudden conversation. He continued to lag behind the man, who had now glanced over at him. "W-what do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Tony tried to slow his pace to allow the boy to catch up with him and walk by his side, but noticed the teen seemed determined to walk behind him. "Are you getting any flack at school with the story?" He'd have to start using his detective skills here. See if he could piece together why Peter was acting so much like the scared kid he hadn't seen in months.

He shrugged, Tony noticing he moved one shoulder more than the other. "I...I guess a little bit? Some p-people had questions. I...I answered them. Nothing...too crazy y-yet."

Tony tried to keep his voice light. "That's good at least." He blew out a sigh between his lips. "I wish I could say it improves from here but the truth is it's probably gonna get a lot worse before it gets better."

Peter scoffed. "What else is new?" he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He could feel the billionaire staring at him and pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the tulips sprouting up along the edge of the grass before he felt the man turn away. "Pepper did some checking and so far they don't know what school you go to yet. Guess your dad did something right in keeping your files so guarded." Mr. Stark grimaced slightly, puffing out a bit of air between his lips. "But it's probably just a matter of time before they figure it out. Maybe a coupe of days. A week at the most."

"Right..."

"It'll be alright, though. I'll have Happy show up earlier to help you get to the car. It'll be fine. He's had a lot of experience dealing with pushy reporters. Honestly, I think he kinda likes it. Makes him feel important," he huffed out a chuckle, glancing over towards the teen again.

Peter's face didn't change. He simply nodded his head. "Mm-hmm..."

Tony swallowed, somehow feeling incredibly awkward. "...Your father seems to be dealing with the news well." he added quickly, jumping right back into conversation, hoping that maybe he was just imagining the tension and Peter would smile or crack a joke and prove that he was just overthinking things. "He's basically got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Lucky for us, he's what they consider a ' _credible source_ ' so they're most likely to believe whatever it is he tells them."

He looked. Still nothing.

"And since for the most part everything he knows about our little program is everything _we've_ told him, we should be in the clear in terms of them checking up on us and corroborating his story. Pepper's got the internship program up and running and we're already taking in applications. _College_ applications of course. I got lucky with you. Any other high schoolers and I'll be running the world's most highly-funded daycare center on the planet."

Silence.

"Peter?"

The boy startled slightly, lifting his gaze for the first time since they'd begun walking. "Huh?"

Tony stopped walking and turned to fully face the boy. He was hunching over, hands fiddling with each other. His right arm hung a bit more limply than the other, as did his shoulder on the same side, sloping down a bit more than the other as if it weighed more. He also seemed to be favoring one leg over the other, shifting his feet constantly as if he were trying to relieve it of some pressure. His face was tired and pale, a few fading scratches marring the skin which wasn't an unusual sight given how the teen spent his nights.

Still, something about the sight made Tony's stomach churn. "Are you okay?"

Peter blinked at him, not seeming to understand the question before gently running his fingers over the limp arm. "You...already asked me this." He murmured sheepishly.

"I know, but you kinda look like you're struggling a bit." Peter scrunched his nose at this. "You wanna sit down?" The billionaire gestured to one of the nearby benches. The teen hesitated for a moment, feet scuffing the stones underneath before reluctantly shuffling over and almost collapsing onto the bench. Tony pretended not to notice as he sat down next to him. He immediately felt Peter tense.

He pretended not to notice that, either.

"So what's up, kid?" He finally asked, tired of dancing around the subject and simply deciding to bite the bullet. "Did you hurt yourself on patrol cause you know I said to come to me if you get hurt. I need to know about these kinds of things," he said a little sternly, hoping beyond hope that Peter was just anxious because he _had_ gotten hurt on patrol and was just nervous about Tony being mad at him.

Peter said nothing for a moment. Their walk had taken them around near the lakeside, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore filling the air. He was reminded of earlier in the day, of Ned and MJ's constant worrying, question after question of whether or not he was okay. He'd barely been able to keep his composure with them. If the same happened now...

The teen simply stared at the water before shaking his head. "Nothing's wrong, Mr. Stark. And I didn't get hurt. I'm just...a little tired today, is all. I...I didn't really sleep well last night and I'm still fighting off...the last of that little b-bug I caught on Thursday."

Tony felt a spark of annoyance flare in his chest that he quickly tried to stamp out. The words of the promise he'd made to Peter began to ring in his head, the promise he'd made to let things go. To never question the boy about things he didn't want to talk about. He felt his fingers begin to twitch against his sides. He could hear the ringing, but he just couldn't help himself. He was so _tired_ of this.

"Right...right..."

Peter must have picked up on the tone in Tony's voice. He narrowed his eyes and felt his nose scrunching. "What?" he asked, his own voice taking on a defensive ring against his will.

"Nothing, it's just...that _bug_ really came on suddenly, huh? I didn't even notice any symptoms when I saw you that night."

"Yeah, well...guess it was an extra strong strain," he muttered, eyes hard.

"Guess so."

Tony matched his gaze head on. He wasn't backing down this time. "So what's this little project you're working on for school?" he asked, tongue poking into his cheek as he pretended not to notice how Peter was tapping his fingers in annoyance.

"It's...just an English assignment. I need to w-write an essay. It's pretty important. Counts as...half of our quarter exam."

Tony shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the hard wood. "You could always work on it in the tower. You've worked on others there before. How come this one's different?"

Peter shrugged, once again favoring one shoulder over the other. "I don't know. Just didn't feel like working on it in the tower today. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

Tony was about to continue prodding the boy, only to pause at he caught sight of Peter shifting on the bench, accidentally bumping his arm against the wood. The teen winced and pulled it back. Immediately feeling all annoyance ebb away, Tony sat up straighter and leaned closer, reaching a hand out. "You alright there, kid?"

Peter didn't seem to notice the tones of concern in the man's voice as he jerked away from him and glared. "Yes, I'm fine! God, how many times do I have to say it before you stop asking and leave me alone?!" he snapped, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Tony quickly reared back and lifted his hands up, a flare of anger sparking in his chest. "Alright, calm down. Why are you getting so angry?"

"I'm not-!" Peter seemed to almost bite down on his tongue and shut his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as his hands shook by his sides before he opened his eyes once more, letting out a quiet sigh as he seemed to deflate in his seat. He lowered his head. "I...I'm not angry. I'm j...I'm just tired. That's all. I'm just tired." He ducked his head away in shame and seemed to curl in on himself, voice tapering off at the end to little more than a whisper.

Quickly feeling the spark of anger extinguish like water being dumped over a candle, Tony scooted closer and quickly lowered his own voice. "Peter, look at me."

It took longer than he would have liked for the boy to relent and lift his eyes.

"You're starting to concern me a little here, kid. You're stuttering again. You're fidgeting. You haven't done all this in a while. Did something happen at school? Did someone say something to you about the story? Did you get harassed by any reporters?"

Through each of the questions, Peter shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I said it's nothing, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, well. I don't believe it is. Look, if you don't want to tell me, it's...it's fine." He had to force the words out of his mouth. They tasted bitter. "You're just...you're kind of freaking me out a little bit here."

Peter wrapped his left arm around his midsection, looking a bit sick. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to."

Tony sighed. "I know you don't. Don't apologize, it's okay. I guess I'm just a little worried, believe it or not."

The teen shook his head and met the man's gaze. "Don't be. I'm just...working through something right now." He turned away once more, staring down at his feet. "It's nothing important." He couldn't talk about this anymore, not when his emotions were running so wild and the threat of blowing up on the man rang so prominent. He had to shut this down now and hope that Mr. Stark would somehow get the message and just drop it.

Still, Tony hesitated for a moment, reluctant to just brush off the exchange and forget about it as Peter obviously wanted him to. But it was obvious just how uncomfortable the kid was and judging from how he looked, he didn't need anything else to be stressing over. So, against his better judgment, the man gave a small nod of his head. "Alright. If you say so then...then I believe you."

Peter let out a breath he seemed to have been holding the entire time they'd been talking. But Tony wasn't done just yet. He rested his arm on the lip of the bench behind the teen's back, Peter blinking in confusion at the move before meeting Tony's gaze once more. "But Peter, I need you to know...I just...I just _want_ you to know that you can talk to me if you need to, alright? I think it's safe to say you've got a lot more on your plate than the average teenager."

The boy glanced away at that, for it was fairly obvious the man was talking about more than just Spider-Man.

"So I think you're entitled to a couple of rant sessions every month. Lord knows that's what I use Pepper and Rhodey for, or even DUM-E if it's something _super_ embarrassing," he muttered before growing a grin as he caught sight of the small smile on Peter's face. "So...if you need to talk about anything, then don't hesitate alright?" He paused for a moment, chewing on his words before continuing. "I like to think that you _like_ being at the tower, doing all this..." he gestured towards the park. "... _random_ stuff with me." Another pause. "Am I wrong to think that?"

Immediately, Peter was jumping forward. "No! No, not at all!" He rushed, eyes wide and sparking with a hint of life that Tony had been searching for the entire time. "I love it at the tower, believe me. I..." He glanced around the park before letting out another small sigh, this one followed up with a soft smile. "I...like doing this stuff, too."

Tony stared at the boy for a moment before smiling back, turning away as he leaned against the back of the bench again. At least the boy finally seemed to be relaxing. "Good. I like to think this is working on the both of us, honestly."

Peter furrowed his brows in confusion, tilting his head towards the man. "What do you mean?"

"Well, ! don't know about you, but taking a leisurely stroll through Central Park isn't really something I do on a daily basis," he scoffed, Peter letting out a soft chuckle from beside him.

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders. "But I mean, it's nice to do this after a day of yelling at bureaucrats and stuck-up politicians. Taking a little time to unwind away from all the crazy shit I usually have to deal with is pretty therapeutic, or at least that's what Rhodey says. I don't really know. I usually stop listening by that point," he smirked, thrumming his fingers across the rough wooden surface. "I guess he's right. Back when he was working alongside more military personnel, he'd say one of the best ways to relax is to find some sort of diversion, a distraction to keep your mind off of your real problems." He waved a hand dismissively in the air before huffing in amusement, glancing around at the fairly empty park. "I guess that's sort of what we're doing here, huh?"

The man began to say something else, but Peter found he wasn't listening. Tony's words were ringing around in his ears, deafening him to whatever else might have been said as his thoughts became much too loud. Something about the words themselves wasn't sitting right with him, made him squirm ever so slightly in his seat. He tried to ignore it but found that one specific word continued to pop up before his eyes each time he tried to refocus.

_Distraction._

He stared down at the ground as Mr. Stark continued to speak. He had to admit, working at the tower, eating lunch at Delmar's, even the Decathlon meet, all of it had been fairly distracting to everything else going on around him, which is what he'd assumed the man was attempting to do, distract him from everything happening with the Cons, with his father.

But he had never assumed that's _all_ it had been...at least for him.

Throughout everything that had happened, Peter found that he _wanted_ to be around Mr. Stark, he _wanted_ to do all these things with him, and it wasn't just because he wanted something distracting to keep him occupied for hours upon hours on end. If that's all he wanted he could just as easily go to the library and pick out a book or three or even start diving for spare parts in dumpsters again to tinker with at home. _Those_ were distractions, random inane tasks that didn't do anything other than fill the space in his head, leaving little room for anything else that might try and slip in.

_Is that what he thinks of me? Just something to fill the space?_

He felt his heart beginning to hammer, shaking his body with the full force of each _thud_.

_Is that really why he's been doing this? Just to divert his attention? Keep his mind occupied?_

His fingers began to curl into the bench, the wood splintering with each twitch.

_Is that all I am to him? Just another tool?_

**"** **_He doesn't care about you."_ **

The wood flew up with a harsh _crack_ , splinters flying into the air from where Peter's fingers had literally crushed them. Tony's eyes widened in shock and he quickly forgot whatever it was he'd been saying as Peter shot up to his feet, panting heavily as his eyes held a look of unrestrained horror.

"Peter?! Hey, are you alright?"

The boy didn't look at him, simply brought a hand up to wrap around his throat, body shivering in place as he heaved. "I...I-I can't b-breathe..."

Instantly, Tony's eyes bulged even wider and he was rushing forward. "O-okay, okay, alright umm..." How the hell was he supposed to do this? He didn't know how to help someone through an attack like this. He didn't even know how to help _himself_ through one!

"Just...j-just sit back down and try to focus, alright? Just...just focus on my voice and try and take deep breathes." He didn't even know if Peter was hearing him as the boy stood frozen, eyes wild and face ashen-white as he literally gasped for breath. "Focus on the air moving through your lungs, Peter. Alright? It's okay."

The teen shook his head. "No...I-I...I just..."

Tony reached out to try and gently guide the kid back onto the bench, only for Peter to rear back with a yelp of pain as the billionaire touched his arm. Seeming to snap himself out of his stupor, Peter rushed back and cradled the arm to his chest, eyes finally landing on Tony. Only they were wild and scared.

The man stepped closer, his own heart pounding as he recalled the feeling of bones _shifting_ underneath his grip. "What's the matter? What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing!"

He moved closer again, Peter stumbled backwards. "Here, let me see it."

"I..I-I..."

He reached out and latched onto Peter's hand, effectively shortening the distance between them as Peter literally cowered away from him. He brushed the boy's jacket sleeve up, eyes widening as he caught sight of the thick bandages coating the shivering limb. He could feel ice beginning to seep into his veins. "Peter..." He breathed, fingers running along the bandages "Peter, what is this?"

The boy shook his head, breaths coming in short gasps. "N-nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. P-please, I just-"

"No, it's not nothing, Peter!" his eyes scoured over the boy's hands as he flipped them over in his grasp, noticing the bright red scars puffing up against the pale white. He followed the trail to where it disappeared underneath the bandages, gaze lifting to the boy's neck. "Look it goes...is it on your neck, too?!"

"No...n-no...I just...I-"

"What the _hell_ is this, Peter?! Are these burns?" He squinted his eyes at the wounds before rearing back with a look of sheer dismay, a shiver running down his spine as he felt his limbs locking up, brain seeming to blitz to a complete and grinding halt. "Fractal scars...these are electrical burns..." he breathed, voice shaky and horrified. Peter stared at him with the same shaken look in his eyes as Tony shook his head in disbelief. "Where the hell did you get this badly hurt?! There were no messages on the suit and I-"

"Please stop...please!" Peter practically begged, chest stuttering as the air refused to move into his lungs. "Really, it's nothing! It's just a few burns, that's all!"

Tony's eyes blazed, he didn't even know _what_ he was feeling right now, everything was happening too fast and the kid was looking at him in fear and pain and he didn't know what to do! "These aren't just a few burns, Peter. These are electrical scars. Fractal trails. Do you know how many volts of electricity it takes to get that kind of scarring? People get these after getting struck by _lightning_ , kid! And it's not just a one time thing. These kinds of scars are built up over and over again with..." he trailed off, heart sinking right into his churning stomach as he felt his hand begin to shake, his grip on Peter faltering. "...w-with repeated exposure."

Peter shut his eyes, turning his face away as he shook his head, tears brimming but refusing to fall as he repeated the same mantra over and over again. "It's nothing. It's nothing. Please just...just let it go."

Tony stared at him, voice much quieter than before. "They aren't nothing, Peter."

"Yes they are. Y-yes they are."

The man stood there for a moment, eyes seeming to burn holes into Peter's face before he removed his hand from the boy's wrist, Peter quickly cradling the arm to his chest once more, only for the teen to pause as he watched Tony begin to roll up his sleeve, revealing the small winding trails of fractal scars that looped around the billionaire's forearm and disappeared under the fabric of his sleeve. They were much paler and less pronounced than Peter's, but there were there and it looked like they'd been there for a long time.

He stared at the sight, chest heaving and breathing quick and erratic. He didn't say anything for a moment before he slowly lifted his gaze to stare at Mr. Stark, the man gazing at him with a resigned, tired face. "No...they aren't." Tony murmured softly before folding the sleeve down once more to cover the scars. He stepped forward again, causing Peter to backtrack as he approached. "Peter...Peter, look at me," he called softly, hand coming to rest on the teen's uninjured shoulder.

Peter turned his eyes away again, biting down on his bottom lip as he clenched his eyes shut. "Please don't do this..." he whimpered.

"Peter..." The man's voice was soft, warm, comforting. Dangerous. "...tell me what happened."

 _Dangerous. Dangerous_. " _You seem to be forgetting your place."_

"No. Nothing...N-nothing happened. Why?! Why can't you understand that?!" He practically sobbed, eyes wet with unshed tears.

Tony continued to move forward, unswayed. His face remained calm, his voice level. "Tell me, Peter."

_"We require some very special forms of discipline."_

"I can't. I _won't!"_

He thought about running, of turning and sprinting away as fast as possible before the man got close enough to catch him. But suddenly Peter's eyes were springing open as he felt two warm hands reach up and cup the sides of his face, gently turning his head so that his eyes were now staring at Mr. Stark's face. The man's own brown eyes were dark with worry, soft and practically begging Peter to talk, to give up and give in, to dive right into those deep brown pools and get swallowed up in the comforting warmth, safe and secure.

"Peter...tell me what they did to you."

He breathed, soft and fast. He could hear his heart hammering against the walls of his ribs, painfully loud in his ringing ears.

"I..." His throat was thick, the words sticking to the walls.

Tony didn't back down. This was it. This was the moment they'd been building to for the past two months. They couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to lay it all down on the table now. There was no going back.

"Look at me. I can help you. I can protect you I - _yes I can."_ He cut in as Peter shut his eyes and pitifully shook his head. "Hey, yes I can. Peter, I _can_ help you, I _promise_ I can...but you have to let me. You have to tell me what happened. Tell me what they did to you. Let me help you."

Peter could _feel_ the tears in his eyes. They didn't fall. "M-Mr. Stark..."

"Peter... _trust me."_

Everything seemed to freeze at those two words, those two little words that might otherwise seem so inconsequential. two words that were uttered every single minute of every single day with no real weight. But for Peter, those two little words made everything stop right then and there. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare back at Mr. Stark's face, concerned and pleading.

The words were building up in his throat before he could stop them, pounding against his head and beating behind his eyes. He was choking on them as they fought to push past his lips. They were heavy. They were heavy and they _hurt_ and he was so tired of carrying them.

But he could let them go right now.

Just open his mouth, let the words out, let them do all the work. He could give in and let go and finally _rest_. Mr. Stark...Mr. Stark could do this. He could help him. He'd been doing it for months. He'd been by his side for months, waiting for this exact moment. And Peter could finally give it to him, finally give him what he'd been after all this time.

He sucked in a breath. It was cold and burned his throat, burned his lungs.

. . .

His eyes were shining, wet with tears.

. . .

His hands were shaking, his whole _body_ was shivering.

. . .

He opened his mouth...

. . .

He saw it.

The butterfly was small, no bigger than his hand. It was pitch black with tiny white spots and a long lithe body that matched the broad speckled wings. It fluttered in the breeze, small and insignificant as it weaved between the branches of the blossoming tree above. Yet it's bold black wings seemed to latch onto the petals like a leech, blotting out the color entirely and coating the petals in inky black drops.

It watched from above.

_"You're a waste of space."_

_"Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with."_

_"Stark doesn't care about anyone other than himself and he's willing to do a lot to prove that._

_..._ Watched

_"You're just another blip to him, kid!"_

_"He'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want, but the second you're no longer useful to him he'll throw you away!"_

_"He didn't care about us and he certainly doesn't care about you."_

_..._ Watched _._

_"A loser like you won't ever be anything!"_

_"And everyone around you already knows it!"_

_"You belong to me, you little rat. And that will NEVER change, no matter what men like Tony Stark say."_

Waited.

_"He can't help you. He can't even help himself."_

Peter blinked and swallowed his heart. "I can't."

"Peter."

"I can't do this." He wrenched himself out of the man's grip and began to back away. "I...I have to go." His voice was ice. His veins filled with cement.

Tony reached out for him as the boy continued to stumble back. "Peter, wait-"

"No!" Peter snapped, raising a hand to the man. It shook in the air like one of the petals in the trees above, fragile, delicate, ready to drop on a whisper of a breeze. "Don't...please don't." His voice cracked and he could feel the air stuttering in his lungs. "I...I'm sorry. Really, I-I am. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I p-promise...I promise it isn't."

"Peter I-"

But the boy was already turning away. "I need...I-I need to go. I'm sorry for taking up your...your time but I really need to-"

"PETER!"

He froze, shoulders tight as he slowly turned to stare at the man. Tony looked like he was about to run forward to the teen again, but knew that if he tried, Peter would just run. He held out his own hand, extending it towards the boy. Peter watched it, swallowing down the bile rising in the back of his throat. He couldn't break down. He couldn't do it. Not here, not now. But he couldn't look away from the man's reaching hand...reaching for _him._

"Please...please stay. Just..." Tony seemed to struggle for the words. His hand started to shake. He didn't retract it. "Just...j-just talk to me."

Peter stared at him as a singe tear fell down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. "I'm sorry..."

And he ran. He didn't know how but he ran. He ran and he didn't stop, not even when he felt his stitches tear and blood dripped down his leg.

Tony could do nothing but stare as he watched the boy disappear into the trees. His hand still hovered in the air. He blinked, slowly drawing the air through his lips, shaky and jagged. His arm slowly lowered. He brought it to his chest, clutching his wrist as the phantom pains returned full force. But he didn't look down to check on the arm. He just stood, stood and stared.

A slow frozen shard of ice began to form in his chest, crawling over his ribs and around his lungs. Two months...and it still wasn't good enough.

 _He_ still wasn't good enough.

He stood and he didn't move, not even when a small black butterfly flew down and landed on his shoulder.

It watched.


	20. All the Lonely People Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough issues to deal with without bringing some stupid brat into the mix." He narrowed his eyes and leveled the man a hard stare. "But the second this kid stops being useful, the second I don't need him anymore, he's out, alright? Gone. You'd forget him like that," he muttered with a snap of his fingers. Ross watched him with a thoughtful look.
> 
> Tony let out an annoyed sigh, glaring down at the floor. "Trust me, there's nothing special about that kid. Soon enough, he won't even be worth my time anymore."

_ F is for friends who do stuff together... _

_ U is for you and me... _

_ N is for anywhere and anytime at all! _

_ Down here in the deep blue sea! _

_Peter wiggled from his seat on the floor to the tune of the song as he blinked up at the TV, watching the bright yellow sponge dance around the screen. He giggled before lowering his head and continuing his work. He currently sat in the living room, legs folded underneath him as his fingers grazed over the assorted multi-colored beads scattered across the coffee table._

_The four-year-old plucked a bead up, rolling it between his fingers with a smile before picking up the half-finished project in his other hand. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to line the hole in the bead up with the string in his hand, watching as the string slipped through the hole and the bead slid down to connect with the other beads already lined up on the wire._

_It only took a few more beads before he was finished, clumsily tying the end of the strings together. He beamed at the finished craft before hastily rising up to his feet. Checking to make sure his Mommy wasn't nearby, the boy quickly forgot about the show playing on the TV as he raced to his room. Closing the door behind him, he went over to his closet and pulled out an empty shoe box from the back. Opening it up, he slid the now-complete necklace into the box and placed the lip back on. He leaned back to gaze at it before scrunching his little face._

_Something was missing._

_After a second, the boy grinned in realization and back up to his feet. Moving over to his little toy desk, he rummaged around the tiny drawers, pulling out a long red ribbon from the bottom of one of them. Taking his plastic scissors, the boy fumbled to place them in his little fingers before snipping the ribbon away from the roll, whisking it up into the air and running back over to the shoebox. He looped the ribbon around the box and tried to tie the ends together. It took a few moments of fumbling but Peter finally got the ends to loop into a lopsided bow._

_Taking a step back to admire his work, the little boy nodded in satisfaction before sliding the box back into his closet, piling a few clothes and shoes on top to hide it from view._

_He shut the closet and leaned against the now-shut door. His hands raised to cup over his mouth as he tried to silence the giggles pouring out, hoping his Mommy wouldn't hear. He didn't want to ruin the surprise. And_ wouldn't _she_ _be surprised when she found out what he'd managed to do all by himself. He couldn't WAIT to show her!_

_The boy blinked back into reality and rushed out of the room as he realized he was missing the rest of his show._

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**05:42 a.m.**

He stared down at the necklace.

Despite how fragile he knew it to be, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in his hands. The beads, which had once been colorful and shiny were now dull and glassy. The string was thin and frayed in certain areas, making his movements extra careful for fear of snapping the thin line. Bits of dust had settled on the orbs, the teen brushing his fingers gently over the beads to clear them of the specks. All in all, the necklace had seen better days. Though he supposed he should have suspected it.

After all, ten years is a long time to wait in a shoe box.

Peter stared down at the long-forgotten gift, his body seemingly frozen as he simply watched the light filtering in through his window catch on the glass beads, shimmers of colored specks dotting the walls of his bedroom.

He currently knelt right beside his closet, the shoe box open beside him, lid resting against his feet. The aching of his knees against the carpet was the only indicator for how long he'd been on the ground. It felt like it'd been only seconds, but it was obvious from the pain that it must have been longer... _much_ longer.

It was hard to describe the feeling bubbling in his chest. He knew it was there simply by his shaking grip but he couldn't place it into words. Whatever it was, it was cold and sharp and prickled against his skin like a million tiny needles slowly pressing into his body. A dark gaping maw that had opened in the very center of his stomach, harsh and black and suffocating, sucking in another piece of himself with each passing second. It curled around his lungs, squeezing tight in a vice-grip of metal wire that cinched the blood and left him white and breathless.

It was like he was in a dream, everything around him seeming to float, hazy and pale like the world was hidden behind a thin white veil.

 _Unreal_.

That was the word he'd been looking for. He felt unreal, fake... _pretend._

A high-pitched ringing made him jerk in surprise, his heart seeming to jump-start like a car battery. He whipped his head around towards his phone, which was vibrating on his desk, sending a thin rattling noise reverberating through the air.

Peter blinked and sucked in a breath, feeling it rattle around his chest like coins in a jar. He let out a ragged cough and sucked in another bout of air, cursing himself mentally for being so dramatic as he hastily struggled to his feet.

He moved over towards the bed and gripped the straps of the bag already packed and waiting for him. It was already almost a quarter to 6. He'd have to hurry up if he wanted to make the train on time.

He hoisted the bag over his uninjured shoulder and turned back towards the door, his feet kicking up against something as he took a step. He glanced down and paused as he caught sight of the shoe box. It was old, the sides dusty and curling from age, the logo from a company that no longer existed faded and pale, printed on the side.

Peter took a moment to just stare at the box, fingers twitching as he blinked. He glanced down, eyes meeting the necklace still clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers grazed over the beads once more, cool and smooth to the touch as they kissed against his skin. He hesitated for a moment, turning his head towards his desk, more specifically, towards the trash can situated right next to it. As soon as he laid eyes on it, however, his throat hitched and he felt his skin beginning to freeze over, a dull thrumming vibrating just underneath.

Letting out a small sigh, the boy turned away. He spared the necklace one last glance before stuffing it into his pocket. He kicked the empty shoebox off to the side and quickly left the room without even sparing a glance towards the calendar, without even looking at tomorrow's date.

He knew what it was. He knew it was best not to think about it...

...anymore than he already had.

The house was cold so early in the morning. Peter could feel his body aching ever so slightly as he made his way onto the elevator, the floor jolting under his feet as it began to descend. He gently ran a hand over his forearm. It had been almost a week since it had broken... _been_ broken and with his appetite slowly returning and his strength right alongside it, his healing factor was _finally_ kicking in. The bruises on his face had faded into an almost unnoticeable discoloration, his leg had mended with little less than a small limp in his step and his shoulder had finally closed up and stopped bleeding.

Still, Peter pushed up the flopping sleeves of the too-big jacket he always wore, taking in the burn marks still stretching up along his skin. They had faded considerably, to the point where they almost went unnoticed with a passing glance, but one well-placed stare was enough to uncover them. Peter knew they most likely weren't going to go away. Not this time, not with how severe they'd been.

No, they were simply another addition to the mess of scars and marks that ran up his arms. It was no wonder why Peter always wore the same jacket overtop all of his clothes, no matter the weather.

He simply had no choice. After all, it wasn't like he could bare to look at them.

Still rubbing his arm, the elevator slowly came to a stop on the bottom floor, the doors opening onto the dark level. The entire floor was barely lit, only a few of the lights on in the small kitchenette off to the side. Still, even in the dark lighting, Peter could make out the Cons strewn about the floor. Considering most of their work took place during the night, they usually spent their days...enjoying themselves.

Today, Flint was sitting by the mini-bar, piles of miscellaneous white powder spread across the polished surface and across the skin of his hands and face. He gave a big sniff of empty air as Peter passed, not even sparing the boy a glance as he pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.

Max and Curt were on the couch together, the former holding a smoke of some sort. The wafts of pungent air made Peter wrinkle his nose and turn his head away as the man puffed a bloom up over his head as he leaned back against the sofa. Curt, on the other hand, seemed content to simply swig a couple sips of beer as he flicked his lighter cap off and on again, the distinct metallic clinking filling the air as he lazily stared at the TV. The glow illuminated the room in eerily blue light.

Sandra was on the couch perpendicular to the one her colleagues were using, sitting on the lap of a mystery woman. The two moaned passionately as they made out, a pile of multicolored pills sitting on the table in front of them. Peter didn't bother checking to see who the mystery woman was. Sandra was known to bring home tons of strays of all shapes and sizes, ages and genders. Whoever the woman chose on a particular day, Peter never saw them again. He tried not to think too much into it.

Thankfully, the Cons were either too drunk, buzzed, loaded or...preoccupied in Sandra's case to take any notice of him. Of course, it might have just been the way he slunk in the shadows, his small figure slipping through the gleams of light and sliding out of their lines of sight.

Years of practice and Peter had finally gotten the knack of being invisible.

Realizing that the front door would be swarmed by reporters, even at this early hour, the teen cautiously made his way towards the back door, which lead through the garage and out onto the street behind their house. He case a wary glance behind him at the mound of cars and vans parked outside his house before giving a small shake of his head and beginning his walk down the street.

The sky overhead was still dark considering the time with a few pale streaks of color beginning to spread as the sun just barely began to emerge. The teen continued to keep his eyes on the street however, making sure to watch for any other vans of TV cars pulling up alongside him just in case one of the stake-out groups had made him during his escape.

Luckily, no such thing seemed to happen as the street remained fairly empty. Peter blew out a small sigh of relief, fingers drumming against the straps of his bag as he wondered whether or not the reporters had decided to focus on Stark Tower instead of their regular old townhouse.

The thought almost made Peter break his stride before he was clearing his throat and continuing on his way. His skin prickled ever so slightly as he recalled the feeling of a hand latching onto his wrist, grip desperately tight.

He hadn't heard anything from Mr. Stark since that day in the park two days ago.

Immediately, a bout of anger flared as Peter thought back to the encounter, to that _disaster_ of a day. So far, he'd been doing well to _not_ think about the ordeal, but inevitably, a thought or two would slip through and he'd sink into a sea of overwhelming emotion and anger now that he finally had the ability to step back and think over the entire exchange.

And every time he thought about it, he got angrier and angrier.

How could Mr. Stark do something like that? How could he _deliberately_ and with such... _disregard_ just go against everything he said he wouldn't do?! He'd told Peter that he'd _never_ push, never demand an answer. He'd said that Peter wouldn't have to worry about keeping secrets from him because he'd never _ask about them!_ And what does he go and do? Practically cause a scene in the middle of a _public fucking park_ and almost made him spill his guts!

Peter could remember with disturbing accuracy the unadulterated _terror_ that had shot through his body that day, the paralyzing fear that had swept through him as he saw someone get inches... _millimeters_ away from the truth.

Even now, as the teen walked down the sidewalk, he could feel himself getting angry.

Why had the billionaire been so adamant in the first fucking place?! This had _never_ happened before. Sure, over the years there were always people who had gotten suspicious, people who had noticed a few things here and there, a few who might have begun to piece some things together. And maybe even a few of them tried to push Peter about it, get him to spill something. But the boy was steadfast, even back then, and as soon as he'd show that he wasn't about to crack under their pressure, they'd backed off. They'd left it alone. They'd given up. But Mr. Stark hadn't g-

Peter slowed his walk as the thought entered his mind.

Mr. Stark hadn't given up. He'd seen...and he kept pushing. He didn't shy away or avert his gaze and pretend he hadn't seen anything. He hadn't let Peter lie his way out. Everyone _always_ just accepted the lies, even if they were obviously just that.

Peter didn't...he didn't know how he felt about that. He knew it should have worried him. After all, having someone sniffing around was dangerous, especially when said someone had just proven themselves to be determined, to not be swayed easily. But...whatever feeling that was churning around in his stomach...it wasn't dread. He didn't know what it was.

The teen furrowed his brow and pulled the jacket tighter around himself.

Despite his persistence in the park, Mr. Stark had been quiet for the last few days. Peter figured it was a good thing. The man was giving him some much-needed space and Peter could take the time to straighten himself out, which was obviously needed considering the _complete_ lapse in judgement he'd suffered.

Even if Mr. Stark had proven to be just a _bit_ more persistent than some from the past, that didn't mean he was suddenly the answer to everything. Peter was a fucking _idiot_ for even entertaining the notion for a fraction of a second. Ten years of hard work were almost flushed away just by _talking_ to the man for a few minutes. The teen would have scoffed at the hilarity of it all if it wasn't so infuriating.

All these years of lessons, of keeping his mouth shut, hiding his wounds, throwing out excuses, coming up with lie after lie after _lie_ and he'd almost spilled his guts to somebody just because they were _nice_ to him? What a _fucking_ joke.

What right did he have to start pouring things out to Tony Stark? Did he want to get them _both_ killed?

Peter stuttered in his stride at the thought.

The full severity of the situation began to crawl up along his spin, making his movements stiff and his breath falter ever so slightly before he was clearing his throat and continuing down the path.

Everything was beginning to fall apart, Peter could tell that much. The walls he'd so painstakingly built up were beginning to crack ever so slightly and the boy could see exactly what was causing said destruction. He could see his own downfall right before his eyes.

He took a deep breath, hands fisting into the hem of his jacket. He had to breath. He had to keep his head and calm down, cement down what he knew and roll with what he was being given. Ten years he'd been learning and he couldn't just throw away those lessons now, not when they were so vital to his survival. And if that meant taking a couple of days away from Mr. Stark, then so be it. It was worth it as long as he remembered everything that was at stake, everything he'd been taught, everything that was right.

He knew the rules. He couldn't forget the rules. He couldn't let Tony _make_ him forget the rules.

After all, it wasn't like he _wanted_ to see the man or crack a few jokes to lighten the sour mood that had been plaguing him the entire week or just sit and talk to someone he had grown so comfortable around or-

Peter bit his lower lip tightly, scrunching his eyes shut as he focused on the sharp sting of pain that came as he broke the skin instead of the thoughts that had begun to ring, allowing them to be drowned out as he raised his sleeve and wiped away the drops of blood that had formed.

He needed to focus. He needed to stay sharp. And he _had_ to follow along.

Peter spotted the subway sign not too far off and began to make his way over, knowing it wouldn't be long before school started. The familiar blight of frustration and nausea settled into his stomach as he thought of the crowded halls of the place that had once been his safe haven. Now it was nothing but prying eyes and grating whispers from nosy students and concerned friends.

Ned and MJ had practically hovered over him yesterday, much to his annoyance, but he'd bitten his tongue and held back any sharp retorts he wanted to fling, worried of a repeat performance of Monday's fiascos. Pete knew they were likely to do the same today, despite his frustrations and a sharp longing to just be left alone.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers grazing over the small beads of the necklace. They were cold, smooth. He liked the feeling of the polished surface against his skin.

MJ might not know what tomorrow was, but Ned did. And usually, the boy was smart enough to give his friend plenty of space on said day, knowing kind words and reassuring pats on the back would be met with either stoic disassociation or biting fury. Neither Peter or Ned truly knew which it would be until said day came. It was pretty much a toss of the coin.

So with that in mind, perhaps the bubbly boy would be wise enough to convince his female counterpart that it was best to give Peter his space for the rest of the week.

Peter almost perked at the idea. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today, he'd finally be left alone with nobody prying to know how he was feeling. He sighed at the thought, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

Who knew? Perhaps wishful thinking would finally pay off today.

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Student Services**

**09:32 a.m.**

"So how are you today, Peter?"

 _"Wishful_ thinking"...what a laugh.

The teen shifted slightly in the seat, grimacing as the hard backing of the wooden chair pressed uncomfortably against him. "Fine, I guess," he murmured, already feeling a bout of unease drifting over him.

The room was cold, unbelievably so. He could feel goosebumps already spreading up along his arms even from underneath his sweater and jacket. In fact, he was almost shocked he couldn't see his breath swirling around him every time he exhaled. But he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

Ms. O'Hara's office was always freezing.

Said woman sat behind her desk, hands folded neatly overtop some papers as she leaned forward. She had pale blue eyes and brunette hair that stretched down to her neck and curled upwards at the ends. She was incredibly thin, almost as if her skin was simply stretched overtop her bones. Her hands were bony and brittle, like sewing needles pinned together to form a claw. Her lips were ruby red and stretched wide into a bright smile.

"Yeah? You feeling alright? Getting enough sleep?" Her voice was honey sweet with a slight Mississippi drawl laced on the back end of her words.

"Mm-hmm."

She nodded, staring at him in silence with that same bright smile. It never wavered, not even as the seconds ticked on in total silence. Peter shifted again. He cleared his throat softly, lifting his gaze for a moment before dropping it back down. Finally, the woman blinked and leaned back ever so slightly. "Well, I called you in here today because Mr. Harrington seems to be quite concerned about you in his class."

_Here we go._

"Is something...w-wrong with my grades? Cause last...last I checked-"

"Oh no, sweetie. Nothing like that. You're one of Midtown's best and brightest." She chuckled, smoothing her hands along the front of her dress. It was white with pink flowers that were so obnoxiously bright Peter couldn't look directly at them.

"No, his concerns aren't exactly academically inclined so much as they are _emotionally_. He expressed to me that you've been acting a bit off this week." Her face finally changed, taking on a more sympathetic glimmer, though her smile remained. "Quieter than usual, not much participation in classes you're usually so astute in. I talked to a few of your other teachers and they confirmed this with me." She tilted her head. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

Peter shrugged, tracing the carpet pattern with his eyes. "I guess? I mean...I-I haven't really...noticed anything."

He should have seen this coming. This wasn't the first time he'd been summoned by Ms. O'Hara. In fact, this was the third time he'd seen her this school year. Usually, it was Mr. Harrington that initiated such meetings, much to the boy's chagrin.

Her office hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her. Lots of potted plants and pictures of happy smiling students. Diplomas and numerous certificates adorned the walls behind her. She even had some motivational posters here and there. And it was always... _always_ cold.

Ms. O'Hara squeezed her curled hands ever so slightly and leaned closer to the boy. "Is there something you want to talk about Peter?"

He didn't beat around the bush. "No."

"Any problems with your friends? Maybe some issues _making_ friends?"

"Nothing like that."

She paused for a considerable moment before speaking again. "Perhaps some trouble at home then." Peter instantly noticed the slight change to her tone. It was sharper, more pressing. He lifted his gaze for just a flash right in time to see her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Her smile never wavered. "I know this media storm must be quite hard on you and your father. Are the two of you dealing with it alright?"

He shifted in his seat again and rubbed at his arms, careful to be gentle with the wound still lingering underneath the sleeve. "About as well as we can...I guess. H-he doesn't seem too...worried about it. Thinks...thinks it'll blow over in a couple of w-weeks."

She giggled, the laugh ringing in her throat like a bell. "Well, he _would_ know best, wouldn't he? I'm sure he's no stranger to dealing with these news hounds. Though, I must say, these stories I'm hearing about are _quite_ shocking. I never would have imagined you'd be hanging around people like Tony Stark."

She leaned closer and put a hand up to one side of her mouth, like she was whispering a secret to him. "It's no secret that his and your father's companies don't exactly get along." She hummed before bouncing her shoulders and straightening up. "I don't mean to pry but I'm surprised your father allowed it."

He shrugged, eyes still tracing the carpeted design of the rug underneath her desk. More flowers.

Peter had never liked their little meetings. Something about them just made his skin crawl. Something about _her_ just set him on edge. Her chipper, southern-sweetness never really settled the wave of uncomfortable air that washed over him whenever he was near her. Peter didn't really know what set it off. After all, Ms. O'Hara was always so sweet, so... _cloyingly_ sweet. Whatever it was, Peter always assumed he was the only one with such unease towards the woman, for nobody else ever really said anything.

She was the school's golden child. They were always making announcements over the PA about some other award she'd one or a certificate of recognition she'd received from all her charitable work. And from the outside, Peter could see why. To anybody else, any passer-byer, she seemed like the happiest, sweetest person to ever set foot in the school. She skipped around with a bright smile and a wave of her dresses, passing out compliments and handing out advice like candy on Halloween.

Peter was probably just being awkward...again.

Ms. O'Hara blinked at him for a moment before unfolding her hands, resting them on the surface of the desk as she brought her chair closer and leaned in once again. "Peter...are you sure everything's alright? I know it's not my place to say, but I'm feeling quite concerned. It's never wise to get caught up in the news, and hanging around people like Tony Stark can only bring trouble." She gave a little shudder as she said the billionaire's name.

Peter felt his fingers curl into his palms at the obvious dismissal. He didn't know why.

"And not just trouble for you, you know. This can affect your father just as poorly!" She leaned in even closer, so much so that the teen began to squirm underneath her gaze. "You wouldn't want that for your father, now would you?"

Peter grimaced and sat up in the chair, lifting his gaze to her. "No...I just-"

"And it's no secret what people are saying about you in all the papers and on TV." Her sweet voice swept right overtop his, effectively silencing him as she continued. "Now, I'm sure the majority of it is just a bunch of bubble gum, but maybe you should think about stepping back, getting out of the public eye." She leaned back and nodded her head. "It might just be causing you more stress than it's worth."

The teen sighed and slid back down in the chair. He knew the woman was just trying to help him, but something about her words...or maybe it was her tone...? Whatever it was, it made him bounce his leg against the floor, eager to get up and excuse himself.

He said nothing, though. If he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, it was best to just let her finish and _think_ he was soaking in everything she was saying. Soon enough, she'd be talking about colleges and AP classes and whatever other nonsense counselors thought made kids feel better.

Absentmindedly, his hand slid into his pocket and he pulled the necklace out just a tad, fingers grazing over the beads. It calmed his heart ever so slightly, which had begun to pick up in speed as soon as he'd entered the cramped room. It took him a moment to realize the woman was talking once again.

"-don't know, Peter," the woman said as she pushed her chair back away from the desk. She reached down towards the floor and pulled out a small watering can, no bigger than a coffee pot. "Perhaps this is some case of teenage rebellion, sticking it to your father by siding with his competitors." She stood up and began to pour water overtop the potted plants sitting atop her cabinets, glancing back over her shoulder with that same sticky smile. "Quite childish if I do say so myself, and not exactly beneficial to your mental health, sweetie."

Peter suppressed another aggravated sigh as he swung his eyes over towards the wall next to him, spying another motivational poster. This one was of a kid in the desert, holding up a huge boulder with both his hands and legs as the ginormous rock pressed him down into the ground. Even in the illustration, Peter could see the look of terror on the kid's face. Below the image were the words, **_"NEVER GIVE UP!"_**

He grimaced at the picture with a low groan and turned away with a shake of his head. "It's not...it's not like that," he finally muttered, completely over this visit already.

"Hmm..." from the hum that left her throat, the woman didn't seem satiated. She turned back around and dropped the watering can back down on the floor next to her desk. However, before she could open her mouth again, her eyes caught sight of what the boy was fiddling with. "What's that?"

Peter, who had gone back to not paying attention, snapped his gaze over to her and cocked a brow. "What?"

She pointed. "That. In your hand. What do you have there?"

"Oh..." the teen breathed, glancing down towards his pocket, where the necklace was now more visible than before. He tightened his grip on the beads for some reason as he pulled it out completely. "It's nothing, really."

"Doesn't look like nothing," she chirped, eyes shiny and bright like glass marbles sinking into her skull.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as he let the necklace fall into his cupped hands. "It's just...just something I made a long time ago..." he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "...for my mom."

He waited for her to respond, only to lift his head when she remained silent. She hadn't sat down at her desk yet, simply standing there, staring at him. Peter felt a shiver trail up his spine as her gaze seemed to pierce through him. Her smile had finally dissipated, though Peter didn't know if that made him feel better or worse now that her face was empty. She didn't even blink.

He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry for some reason. He tore his gaze away from her face and glanced back down at the necklace. This was getting awkward.

"I think I see what the problem is now, Peter."

Before he could even raise his head and respond, the woman was snatching the necklace out of his hands. "Hey!" He shouted, more of an involuntary response than anything else as he stared at her in disbelief. She glanced at the necklace with mild distain before turning back to him with another smile.

"You're a _clinger_."

"I..." he blinked up at her. "...a _what?"_

"Oh, it's all starting to make sense now, sweetie," she cooed with a chipper grin. "I've seen things like this before, you know. Usually with kids who aren't very emotionally developed or deal with something traumatic at an early age."

She leaned against the lip of the desk, twirling the necklace around in her hand. Peter watched her movements like a hawk, wincing under her gaze as she turned back to him and said in a voice _much_ too enthusiastic, "You lost your mother, what? Ten years ago?"

Peter stiffened in the chair, dragging his eyes away from the necklace and over towards her face. His eyes narrowed and he could feel his fingers curling around the chair. "Something like that." His growled, suddenly finding himself growing angry. "What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

The woman waved her empty hand dismissively. "Oh, Peter. It's very common to see children who deal with such loss early on to develop problems later on in life, usually disciplinary issues like rebellion, disobedience, or even aversion to social situations.

He grit his teeth, glaring up at her as he clenched his fingers into full fists. "I don't have disciplinary iss-"

" _Don't interrupt._

Peter felt his jaw snap shut at the words, heart spiking as he instinctively lowered his head. His fists continued to shake by his sides, but he kept his gaze locked onto the floor.

"As I was saying, it's very common for these... _troubled_ children to cling to certain things, whether it be their past loved ones, friends, objects, even more abrasive substances like drugs and alcohol." She paused for a moment before leaning forward. Peter, in response, leaned away until he was pressing up against the back of the chair. "You haven't dabbled in these horrid things, have you, Peter?" She whispered.

He steadied his breath, trying to calm himself down as he looked back at her. He fought to keep his face neutral. "No." He spat the word out sharply. The woman either didn't notice or didn't care.

Her smile, instead, grew even wider, if such a thing were even possible. She got up from the desk and crouched down so that she was now kneeling in front of him.

"Good. You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

He said nothing. She seemed content with his silence.

"And good boys don't become bright young men by grieving over people who are dead and gone, darling. I understand it might be difficult to let go, but this was _ten years ago,_ sweetie. It's ridiculous to still hold onto such debilitating things like _this_ " She held up the necklace and shook it ever so slightly.

Peter fought against his own muscles to keep his arms down, keep them from ripping the necklace right out of her hands and pushing her away. He could feel his teeth grinding together. He had to keep quiet. Just shut up and everything would be over soon.

_Just shut up, Peter. Shut up._

So he didn't say anything, not even when the woman turned and tossed the necklace into the small waste basket beside her desk. She wiped her hands off and let out a long dramatic and overexaggerated sigh, smiling down at him with a bounce of her shoulders. "There! See? Out of sight, out of mind! Now don't you feel better?"

_Quiet. Quiet. Quiet._

His knuckles were quickly turning white.

Ms. O'Hara moved back around to the other side of her desk and sat back down in her chair with a small sigh. "Now...that's not the only reason I called you in here today, Peter." She folded her hands once more and leaned in closer again. "I wanted to talk to you about how you handle these issues of yours, how you cope. I can see that growing up without a nurturing motherly figure has bred some... _challenges_."

Peter narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze up from the carpet. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he muttered, ignoring the blatant warning bells going off in his mind. He could feel a tingling sensation thrumming at the base of his skull. It made him squirm in the seat as he rolled his shoulders, wincing as his injury flared ever so slightly.

The women giggled with a small roll of her eyes. "Come now, Peter. Don't be so sensitive." Her eyes seemed sharper than before, pale and icy and completely overwhelming. "Now, I wanted to know how you handle the things that bother you. Like...whenever you have a bad day, how to you deal with it?"

The teen blinked his eyes and threw her a weird look. "What? I...I don't know..?" The tingling hadn't gone away. He was confused. He wasn't being threatened right now so why were his senses going nuts? He _wasn't_ in danger...right?

"Come on, Peter," she teased. "Give me something here. How to you cope? How do you manage it? What's your process?"

The boy let out a small sigh, glancing away as he straightened back up in the chair. _Just answer, dummy. Answer and you can finally get out of here._ He gave a shrug, thinking about it for a moment longer before responding. "I guess...I don't know, I guess I just talk to my...to my friends about it"

"Edward Leeds and Michelle Jones?"

"Ned and MJ. They...they don't like being called by their full names."

The woman hummed and took a second to just look at him. Peter didn't like it. It was like she was examining him, studying him like a frog on the dissection table. He felt exposed, like a loose wire. Hot and electric and dangerous.

The tingling was getting stronger.

Finally, Ms. O'Hara leaned back in her chair with a small breath, gazing at him with something akin to...disappointment? "Oh, Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter..." she sighed, shaking her head sadly. "What makes you think that's okay?"

The teen stared at her with a dumbfounded look. Had he said something wrong? Why was he looking at her like he'd just confessed to drug dealing to the football team while simultaneously cheating on a final? The tingling grew, to the point where it was hard for him to keep still in the chair as it vibrated underneath his skin, seeming to shake his bones and rattle his teeth.

The counselor stood up from her chair and gazed down at him. "This isn't good, Peter."

Feeling a small bout of confidence (or maybe it was just anger), the teen folded his arms over his chest. "What? Isn't talking to my friends supposed to be healthy?" he muttered sarcastically

"Yes. But being a burden to them isn't."

Peter froze at the words, wondering for a moment if he'd heard her correctly. He felt his back go rigid against the chair as he sat up, attention completely grabbed now. He furrowed his brow and stared at the woman with wide eyes. "What...what did you say?" he murmured, the tingling now spreading throughout his entire body. Something was wrong. Something was _wrong._

Ms. O'Hara held her smile as she cupped her hands together, slowly taking a few steps away from the desk. "I understand you must have many bad days, Peter. It's not easy being a teenager these days, what with the mound of problems you must face. But these problems are your _own_ , your own mess to clean up." She murmured, waggling a finger in the air.

"I don't...I-I don't understand..."

"Come now, you're a smart boy. Figure it out."

"I'm just...talking to my friends! There's...t-there's nothing _wrong_ with...with that," he tried to say, tried to bite back. But whatever ferociousness, whatever fire had been burning in him before was quickly dying. All of the doubts that had been ringing around in his ears, it was echoing. Loud and ominous and grating against his senses.

"But you're not just talking are you, Peter? No, you're discussing matters that they have no part in. Sharing your misery. Does it make you feel better to make them feel worse?"

"No! I-"

" _'Misery Loves Company'_. Are you trying to take a page out of that book?"

"I'm not try...I didn't-"

"Are you a selfish boy, Peter?"

He said nothing as he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor. His brow was furrowed and his lips were parted as he tried to find his voice, tried to refute what she was saying, tried to do... _anything_. But it was like the words had frozen to the sides of his throat. It was like his hands were stuck to his sides and his feet were pinned to the floor. He couldn't move.

All he could do was listen.

"What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? However bad they're making you feel, Peter...just _imagine_ how they make your _friends_ feel." She stepped closer. "Imagine how they must hurt inside when they hear about your problems, when they realize there's _nothing_ they can do to help you."

_"No, Ned! He can't just waltz into school looking like he's three seconds from passing out and not expect us to be conc- to not say anything!"_

_"_ I...I didn't-"

 _"_ Imagine what you must make them feel." She was standing behind him now, he could hear her breathing. Hear her voice. It swirled around him, bouncing off the walls, surrounding him.

"Inadequate."

"No...I-I just..."

_"I want...I want you to tell us the truth. I mean, don't you trust us?"_

"Useless."

"I didn't mean...m-mean t..."

_"Please, we're your friends. We only want to help you. And we can't do that when you keep shutting us out._

"Pathetic."

_"Don't thank me. Just...just don't."_

Peter felt the air in his lungs violently jolt out of his body as he felt Ms. O'Hara rest her hands atop his shoulders. His heart stuttered against his ribs, cracking, piercing. "What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? Are they your friends' responsibility?"

His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "No..."

"Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?"

Ned helping him redress his wounds. Ned letting him sleep at his house when the Cons had kicked him out. Ned holding him behind the bleachers as he sobbed his eyes out. Ned putting his needs on hold all for him, all for _him._ For _years..._

"No."

"Do you want them to hurt just as much as you?"

Michelle giving him her migraine pills. Michelle feeding him parts of her lunch. Michelle defending him against his bullies. Michelle lying for him. Michelle dressing his wounds. Michelle worrying herself because of _him_.

"No..."

The woman patted his shoulders, the teen holding in the moan of pain as her hand pressed down on his wound. "There! You see? You're already learning, darling! I know these issues can be challenging, but it would be both in _your_ interest and your _friends_ ' to keep these things to yourself. When you need to talk, you come to _me!_ I'm trained to listen to your problems, to deal with your nonsense. Your friends aren't. They're innocent. They don't deserve to deal with _your_ issues, with _your_ life, do they?"

_I'm sorry..._

"No."

He could practically _hear_ the smile in her voice. "Exactly. There's nothing wrong with a little silence." She leaned down until her lips were right next to his ear. "Every good boy knows when to be quiet. Isn't that right, Peter?" Her nails curled into his shoulder, digging into the skin in a vice-like grip. "Isn't that what your father taught you?"

He wanted Mr. Stark.

"Yes."

She straightened back up and removed her hands. "Such a wise man, your father. The school is very grateful for the annual contributions he donates to us, you know?" She didn't seem bothered by his silence as she stepped back from the chair, moving over towards the cabinets by the back of the room. "I understand this is a lot to process," she murmured straightening out a picture of her next to a smiling young girl. "Tell you what? We'll talk about this more at a later time. I want you to let this all sink in, really understand and let it take root."

She moved back over towards the desk, pausing for a moment to place a hand on her chest. "You know I only want what's best for you. We all do, Peter."

He could feel his hands shaking at his sides. He didn't meet her gaze.

"So!" She clapped her hands together again. Peter winced. "The next time you're feeling anxious or nervous and feel you might want to share your problems, talk about your feelings, remember..."

He glanced up right as she lifted a hand, placing a slender finger up to her lips. He sucked in another breath. The air was so cold, it made his lungs burn. "Bottle that all up, hold it deep inside you and let it build up. Don't share it with anybody, no matter what. And then when we meet again, unload it and share it with me. I'll deal with it. I'll deal with _you_."

She tilted her head and let out a titter of a laugh. "You know nobody else deserves to deal with the mess."

Peter lowered his head and wrapped his arms tight around himself, trying to draw in a sliver of warm in the otherwise frigid room. But his own body was cold to the touch.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman glanced down at the watch on her bony wrist. "Well, that's all the time we have, sweetie. I have to go and talk to Ms. Petroza." She grabbed a couple of folders out of the filing cabinet before closing it back up, glancing at the boy with a grin. "You go ahead, gather your things. The bell's gonna ring in a few minutes so you can just wait out the rest of the time in here, think about everything I told you."

With that, she made her way over towards the door, opening it just a tad before stopping and turning back. Her eyes seemed to snap right through his thin little frame as she beamed, lips blood red and teeth pearly white. "I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again."

And with that, she slipped though the door, leaving Peter all alone.

For a moment, all he did was sit there. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't twitch. All he did was sit and stare at the carpet underneath his feet, at the flower design stitched into the rug. Snapdragons. He was pretty sure they were Snapdragons.

He lifted his head, sucking in a rattling bout of air that stung the whole way down before slowly rising up to his feet. It was like his body was frozen, like his joints were solid ice. The air was thin, a frigid grip that snaked underneath his clothes and licked at his skin. He shut his eyes and suddenly he was back in the Terrarium, in the dark, in the cold. There were chains on his wrists, his ankles. Blood dripped down his skin, dripped onto the floor, dripped into the pools below. It was so cold, they were beginning to freeze, solid drops of frozen sweat, frozen tears, frozen red pins. He could feel it biting into him, curling around his bones and cutting straight through his muscles, icy patches of frost coating his cheeks.

He tried to speak, opened his mouth to scream, only for the cold to spread over his throat, coat his tongue. He tried to move it, only for it to shatter as soon as it touched his teeth, dissolving into nothing as ice spread overtop his mouth, freezing the words inside into muted screams, muffled by snow.

He wanted Mr. Stark.

He wanted his friends.

He wanted Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

He wanted his mom.

But he couldn't. He couldn't have them...because he was too cold, and he couldn't call out for them.

His tongue was gone. It had frozen off.

He opened his eyes and suddenly he was back in Ms. O'Hara's office. His eyes scanned over the room, so small, so...escapable. And yet, it was the Terrarium all over again. Only these chains were different. These chains were invisible, and yet just as strong.

Peter let out a small breath, if only to make sure he still could, before taking a small step. He crouched down onto his hands and knees, not really trusting his legs to carry him any father than a foot as he crawled along the floor and over towards the trash can. He reached a shaky hand in and pulled out his mother's necklace, only for him to pause at the thought.

Could he really call it his _mother's_ necklace if she'd never even worn it?

He thought about that as he sat back against the wall, holding the necklace close to his chest. He thought about that and kept thinking about that, just kept thinking, thinking, thinking.

**. . . . .**

She shut the door with a soft little click, back pressing against it for a moment as Holly O'Hara took a second to breathe. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Checking her hair in the black screen, she quickly turned it on and scrolled through her contacts before coming to one with no name listed.

Only a number.

She pressed on it and brought the phone to her ears. It only rang twice before the person on the other end picked up.

"It's done." Holly murmured softly, knowing full well the boy on the other side of the door had the capabilities of hearing her. Though, she had no doubts he would be a little too busy...processing their latest chat. She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment before responding. "No, no trouble at all."

Another moment.

She grinned and let out a chuckle. "Don't worry," she said with the same cheery voice as before. "He won't be saying anything to anybody. Trust me."

Another set of instructions. She listened carefully before agreeing, ending the call and sliding the phone back into her pocket. She let out a small content sigh, primped her hair one last time and made her way down the hallway, shoes clacking against the hard tile underneath.

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Stark Towers - Conference Room A**

**03:16 p.m.**

Tony stared out the window. Above the skyline, an unbroken layer of white and gray hung overtop the city, a brilliant sheen where the sunlight illuminated the clouds, dark where it did not. The usually shining glass buildings scattered across the city were dulled and muted with the overhanging atmosphere of dim shade. People bustled along the sidewalks as normal, despite the less than pleasant weather licking at their heels. It made them quicken their strides ever so slightly with the looming threat of being caught in the eventual downpour that poked through the clouds.

He sucked in a small breath, feeling the cool air swirl around his throat before seeping down into his lungs, crisp and clean. He glanced down at the glass in his hands, a common sight nowadays. He lifted his other hand and slowly began to trace the lip with his finger, carefully following the thin rim in a lazy circle. He thought about a chip of glass sticking up from the surface, cutting into his skin, blood dripping down the side. But all was smooth, undisturbed. No chips. No blood.

Tony's eyes flashed for the briefest of moments, just long enough for them to trace the line of scars he'd seen. Red and raw and angry, snaking up the kid's paper arm like blood splatters, like lava crackling underneath the ground, bubbling hot magma all across the surface of his skin.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around, heart stuttering in shock as his wide eyes rounded on Pepper. The scotch sloshed around in the glass as he turned on his heel, the woman rearing back slightly at the man's response. He bit out a sharp sigh and placed a hand to his heart. "Jesus, Potts! What the hell are you trying to do to me, huh?"

She pursed her lips. "I called your name three times."

He stared at her for a moment before blowing a scoff. "Couldn't have hurt for a fourth."

"Tony."

"What?" He muttered, glancing her direction, annoyance bubbling in his chest at the look of resigned frustration on her face. "I've got everything down, memorized, scripted. I'm good. I'm...I'm good."

He turned back towards the window, trying to ignore the feeling of her eyes boring holes into the back of his skull. "Are you?"

"What?"

" _Are you_? Good, I mean. Cause frankly, you don't seem it."

The man cast her a small glare over her shoulder. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" He _really_ didn't have the patience to go into another debate. That seemed to be all they'd been doing these past few days, ever since Monday, ever since he'd gotten back from the park. And not knowing whether or not his temper would hold out long enough to spare Pepper from the brunt of it, Tony wasn't really in the mood to test it out.

The woman seemed unperturbed, however, as she turned away, the tell-tale sound of her heels clicking against the floor. He angled his body ever so slightly so that he could easily watch as she picked up a stack of files she'd brought in earlier and began to distribute them around the table. She didn't look up from her work as she spoke. "Tony, you need to focus. You can't be thinking of Peter right now."

He narrowed his eyes, tightening his hold on his drink ever so slightly before rolling his eyes in a dismissive manner and raising his glass, taking a sip before turning his head away. "I'm not." His voice was light, casual in his usual carefree tone, nothing like the boiling pit pooling in his stomach.

Pepper wasn't fooled, however, as she finished setting down the last of the files and turned on her heels, arms folded as she stared at him with a hard look. "I mean it, Tony. This is important. Ross has been on the prowl for months now. He's going to be hounding you today."

"I know."

"Rhodey said he'll be waiting for you to make a mistake so he can slip in whatever ridiculous protocols he wants to add to the Accords to make them even more hostile and aggressive."

"I _know_ , Pepper. You can save it with the goddamn lectures and just finish your fucking job, alright?" He scowled at her for a moment before sucking in a breath and sharply turning away again. He raised his glass, cursing his damn hand for the slight tremor and took another sip. It burned as it slipped down his throat.

He was being an ass, that much he knew. But he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment. There was just too much on his mind, too much weighing down on his chest, threatening to snap his ribs and cave in his sternum under the pressure.

He heard the sound of her heels once again and took another breath as he felt her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder. Tony didn't turn away from the window. The clouds were getting darker.

"He's gonna be alright."

Another breath, shakier than the last. "You didn't see him."

Pepper sighed and let her hand slip down to her side. "I know."

"No, you don't, alright?" He rounded on her, scotch spilling over the side of his glass and dripping onto his shaking hand. "You _don't_ know. You don't know anything and neither do I and that's the _fucking_ problem! Two months and I Still. Don't. Know!"

He shot the glass towards his mouth and slammed the remnants of the drink down his throat. "I don't know what Richard's doing to him. I don't know what he's _telling_ him. I don't know _anything_ because that fucking kid refuses to tell me!" He pushed past her and stalked over towards the cabinets lining the back wall, towards the glasses and the bottles of scotch lined up neatly.

Pepper said nothing as he wordlessly plucked up the bottle of scotch, popped the cork and refilled his glass. He wondered if the Senators would mind if he drank. He didn't care what they thought either way, he was still going to do it, but it was nice to imagine being able to piss off Ross even more by drinking during their " _oh so important"_ meeting. Just another way for him to stick it do the pompous asshole.

Some issues in Washington had lead to the Senators extending their stay, leading to the meeting that was scheduled for yesterday to be postponed to today. Which meant a day of yelling, cursing, and running circles around agendas and policies that should never even see the light of day, let alone make it through legislation. Tony supposed he should have been grateful for the extension. It gave him more time to think. More time to...he didn't even know what.

Tony didn't know what to do anymore.

His little meeting with Peter had left him feeling...something. Hopeless? Afraid? Loathsome? Maybe a combination of the three? Maybe none of the three? He didn't know. He didn't know what he was feeling. All he did know was that his little plan was currently crashing and burning.

Whatever progress he'd assumed he was making had proven to be all for nothing. It hadn't made a lick of difference. Peter still didn't trust him. Peter still wasn't talking to him. How the hell was he meant to help this kid if Peter didn't let him?! Was he helping him at all?

Tony lowered his head, staring back down at the glass in his hands, at the amber liquid reflecting his face back up at him.

Two months. It had been two months since he'd met Peter. Two months of getting to know the kid, of opening up to the kid, of trying to crack through that tough exterior shell. Some of it had been annoying. None of it had been easy. But for the longest time, Tony truly believed he was...helping. He believed that Peter was getting better, improving with their little talks, their little workshop moments. He thought Peter was finally starting to trust him. Was it all in his head?

Pepper watched him stare at his glass for another moment before giving a small shake of her head, pushing back a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. "Tony, we said it yesterday and I'll say it again." Her voice was dead serious, no play whatsoever. "We have to call this in. File a report. We need to go to the police."

As soon as she said it, he was shaking his head. "No."

"At this point, it would be irresponsible _not to!"_

"We can't."

She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. "Stark, it's this boy's _life_ that we're talking about here, not some trivial SI meeting that you can't be bothered to attend or some secret project that only you can know about. You can't afford to wave this off. Put your goddamn ego aside for _one_ minute and admit that you can't do this by yourself!"

Tony slammed the glass down on the table, the bang echoing throughout the entire room. " _Goddamn it_ , Potts! You think I don't want to go to the police, to CPS, to the damn _Coast Guard_ or whoever I have to go to to get that kid out of that house?! You think I wouldn't be there _already_ if it was a viable option?!" He shouted, eyes burning as he glared at her, the woman returning his stare with full force.

"So why isn't it?!"

"Because he _lies!_ " he screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. "He lies, Pepper. He lies about all of it to cover for that dirtbag of a father! He lies to everybody; to his friends, to CPS, to the police. He's a liar...and a damn good one at that."

Pepper shook her head, letting out a small scoff. "He couldn't possibly be _that_ good, Tony. To fool an agency that must see cases like his all the time?!"

Tony didn't say anything for a moment, staring at her for a good long while, staring into her brilliant blue eyes that could scan through his words and pull out the lies without even missing a beat, that could pierce through his shell and find whatever mess was underneath. He'd been prey to those eyes before and he knew he would fall victim to them again some time in the future. But not today.

Instead, he blew out a small sigh and grabbed the lip of one of the chairs, rolling it away from the table before plopping into it, feeling just how tired he really was. He couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd gotten a good night's sleep, not just crashed on the couch in the lab or fallen into a drunken haze.

They'd been arguing about this for the past two days, they being him, Pepper and Rhodey. The latter two seemed adamant in calling the police, in filing a claim against Parker for the safety of the kid, getting angrier and angrier at the billionaire for his reluctance.

They didn't know. They didn't know what Tony knew.

He leaned back against the chair, hands folding overtop his stomach as he twisted the chair to face the back wall, away from the woman. "...I checked."

Pepper sighed in frustration, running a hand down her forehead before gently slapping it down against the side of her hip. "Checked what, Tony?"

"Everything. Everything that could possibly help us out here, everything I could possibly do. I...I checked his CPS file."

She groaned, shutting her eyes as she turned away. "Tony..."

"I know, I know. Privacy. Legality. All that shit. I don't care at this point."

Pepper continued to shake her head for a moment, glancing away towards the window Tony had been preoccupied with before. "I thought those files were secure."

"Usually they are." He used his foot to twist the chair around again. "Peter's a minor so they were sealed pretty tight, but I mean...come on. Who are you talking to here?" The usually snappy reply didn't hold the same snarky energy it usually did. It sounded so...flat.

"And? What did you find out? If he has a file, then he's been checked out. They've investigated."

Tony pursed his lips together and gave a small nod. "yeah. They've investigated. They've investigated six times in the pat ten years."

" _What?!"_

"I read the notes on each and every one of them." He reached for the glass that was still on the table from when he's slammed it down, bringing it closer and leaning back down in the chair again, resting it against one of the armrests. "The first one was issued back in 2008."

Pepper stared at him, face flashing through a mirage of different emotions, none of which truly settling before being replaced by another. Slowly, the woman lowered herself into one of the other chairs. "2008..."

"He was six years old." Tony leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he tightened his grip on the glass, knuckles slipping into a shade of white. "And you know what I found? _Nothing._ Absolutely nothing. Every single time somebody files a report, they send out a worker to investigate the house, investigate the family. And every time, the report passes with flying colors, saying how the house was spotless, the family was sweet and Peter was happy and healthy, displaying none of the warning signs they look for."

Pepper stared at him in confusion for a moment, opening her mouth to ask a question before it dawned on her. She tilted her head as her lips parted ever so slightly, eyes crinkling as she sucked in a shaky breath.

"He..."

Tony didn't lift his gaze from the glass in his hands. "He was lying at six years old. Pepper. Lying well enough to fool his social worker." He lifted his head to stare Pepper right in the face, eyes empty and hollow. "Imagine how good he is now. And with his powers healing all of his wounds in record time, there's never any evidence to suggest otherwise."

He slipped in another sip from the glass and pushed himself out of the chair, realizing he couldn't sit still anymore. Pepper followed him with her eyes as he began to pace back and forth, swirling the glass in his hand. "At this point, they've chalked up every report as people trying to catch their five minutes of fame by filing against a celebrity, by trying to bash Richard's name. And considering every time they've sent a worker, nothing seems to be wrong...they've started believing it."

Pepper shook her head, staring down at the floor for a moment. "God...Maybe - and I didn't say this on record-" she added, lifting her head and pointing a finger at the billionaire, who shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes in response."-but...maybe a camera? It wouldn't be hard to plant one in the house, would it?"

Tony clicked his tongue and shook his own head, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking another sip. "No dice. It would never make an actual case. It's illegal to record anybody within their own home without their consent. Right to privacy laws or some shit. It would never be an acceptable piece of evidence."

He paused to give a small humorless scoff, gesturing to himself with the glass. "And if _I'm_ the one who turns it in, well...you know what people will think. That I'm just trying to weed out my competition by making false claims and wild accusations." He took another sip before his eyebrows furrowed and he pulled the glass away with a huff. " _'Competition.'_ What competition? Do people really think I'm threatened by this guy?"

Pepper didn't bother to answer as she continued to stare down at the floor, knee bobbing up and down before she hesitantly lifted her eyes once more. "A wire?"

Tony didn't even bother turning to face her at that. "You think Peter will agree to wearing a wire? The kid barely even lets us _touch_ him, let alone let us listen in on what's really going on." The man raised the glass only to notice that it was empty. He sighed in annoyance and strode over to the cabinets again.

"Like I said before, the only chance we have is Peter." He picked up the bottle of scotch again, pouring more into his glass. "He's the key component to all of this and...and-" He blew a curse past his lips as his shaking grip caused some of the scotch to miss the glass and spill onto the table. He angrily slammed the glass container down on the table, the entire structure shaking with the force.

Pepper slowly rose back up to her feet. "Tony..."

He didn't respond for a moment, simply clasping both hands onto the edge of the cabinet, head down as he sucked in violent bouts of air through his nose, eyes scrunched shut as he focused on feeling it enter his lungs and not on how badly his hands were shivering.

"You just...you didn't see him."

Tony raised a hand to his face, draping it over his mouth and down his chin. "He was so... _scared._ " He could hear Pepper's heels against the tiles once more, coming closer. He sighed and gave a small shake of his head. "I thought I was helping."

She placed a comforting hand overtop his own. "You _are_ , Tony."

He pulled away. "Am I? Because Monday just confirmed that we're still at square one. We're still at the fucking _drawing board_. This kid is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's screwed if he talks, he's screwed if he doesn't. I...And I've given him a way out but he's been so hardwired to distrust me that he's never going to take it!"

 _"Yet!_ He won't take it _yet_ , Tony. But come on. You honestly can't stand there and tell me that you've had no effect on this kid. Just look at how he is now compared to when we first met him!"

"Monday-"

She raised her hand. "I get it. Monday...Monday you two had a bad day."

He scoffed and pushed past her, walking back over towards the window. She was determined, though, and followed him. "But that doesn't mean you just give up." She paused, coming to stand right next to him. He could feel her eyes boring into his skin, burning holes through his skull. "You're not thinking of giving up...are you?"

It took a second for the man to answer, which was a second too long as the woman narrowed her eyes. "Tony!"

He reared back, lifting his hands in a placating manner. "No! Of...of course not. Of course not. It's just..." He licked his lips and turned his head away, glancing back over towards the window, at the bustling world just outside the glass. Peter was down there somewhere. Peter was down there and Tony didn't know if he was alright, if he was safe and he couldn't _stand_ it. He couldn't stand not knowing.

He angled his head down ever so slightly and could just make out the cars and vans parked outside the building, reporters and cameramen not seeming to be deterred by the threat of rain in the foreseeable future, determined to camp out for however long it took for them to get their pictures, to get their scoop. The man curled his lip before narrowing his eyes and turning back to Pepper. "Can you honestly tell me with one hundred percent certainty that I haven't made this kid's life _harder_ in some sense of the word?"

Pepper blinked at him, furrowing her brows and opening her mouth, only for the billionaire to beat her to the punch. "Richard. His classmates. The fucking _media!_ And that's not even getting into Spider-Man, into the shitstorm that could come if Ross somehow gets him on his radar, if he decides that maybe he wants to make the Accords a nationally-sanctioned registry instead of an international one."

Tony felt his hand shaking again and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. He couldn't stop thinking about the park, about that _damn kid,_ about the two months they'd spent together. Even before Monday, he'd been having his doubts, uncertainties about just how effective a mentor he was being, how well he was doing in terms of helping the kid. Even before the disaster that had struck, the same fears had been bubbling within him: was he really what was best for this kid?

But for the most part, he'd been able to subdue such fears, bury them down. Every time they'd meet, every lab day they'd spend working on this project or that, every time he'd pick the kid up for lunch or talk about the dumbest of things with the greatest of ease...every time Peter talked to him about something personal or Tony shared something of _his,_ he'd pushed the thoughts down. He'd had enough going that he could ignore his hesitations, disregard the doubt.

Then Monday came and it all came spiraling back.

 _Was_ he really what was best for Peter? Was he not just making his life more difficult by making him juggle so much more? Flack from his father, grief from the news, stressing over secrets. All of that came because of the time they'd spent together. And beforehand, Tony could sum it up to being the price to pay for helping the kid in the long run, in getting his trust and eventually getting him away from that house.

But as soon as that day in the park came, as soon as Peter revealed just how much he _still_ didn't trust the man, just how _bad_ things still were for him, just how much he was still hurting, still suffering...Tony knew. He wasn't doing enough.

 _He_ wasn't enough.

The man glared over at Pepper, eyes hard and voice cold. "Can you tell me without a shadow of a doubt that I haven't somehow made things worse for him?"

She stared at him for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out. Tony blinked at her and gave a small nod, turning away. "Neither can I. You just...you didn't... _see_ him."

They said nothing. A roll of thunder sounded from the clouds above.

_"Boss? Secretary Ross and his colleagues have entered the building. Mr. Hogan is escorting them to you now."_

Tony didn't look up at FRIDAY's message. He simply kept his gaze on the city, on the clouds spreading out over the buildings, dark and gray and heavy. "Go. I'm already going to have to deal with a whole handful of people criticizing me on everything I do. I don't need to add one more to the mix."

Pepper narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. Tony could practically feel her shaking next to him, overcome with emotion. She jabbed a finger into his chest, causing him to turn and stare at her as she got right in his face. "I do know _one_ thing for certain, Tony. If you give up...if you let this boy go...you _will_ regret it."

He stared down at her, into her chilling blue eyes. He wouldn't let her see just how much the words made his stomach churn. "Close the door on your way out, Potts."

She continued to gaze at him for another few seconds before whipping around on her heel and stalking over towards the door. She made it through the entrance before resting a hand on the frame and turning to look over her shoulder.

"I hope you know what you're doing. Not just for your sake...but for his as well."

With that, she disappeared down the hall, leaving nobody to hear as Tony blew out a sigh and rubbed his face.

"That makes two of us. It doubt it'll be enough."

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Airspace over Trenton, New Jersey**

**07:35 p.m.**

"Would you _stop_ touching buttons, for the love of _GOD_?!"

Scott reared back only slightly at the retort before lifting his hands innocently. "I'm sorry! I've never been on a fancy high-tech super ship before. Excuse me if I'm a little curious!"

Sam glared over at him and shifted in his own seat. "Yeah, well I don't need your five-year-old sense of curiosity ejecting me from the plane or some shit." He folded his arms and glanced around warily at his surroundings.

The plane Shuri had sent for them was what she deemed as _"boring and discreet as I could possibly make it,"_ which meant it was still an impressive piece of tech. Not too different from the Quinjet, the ship was spacious and comfortable, with seats lining the walls and tables with coordinates and holomaps situated in the center. The sleek vibranium walls lead to smooth angles and curves that made the ship almost look organic in design.

While Scott and Sam currently sat against the back wall of the ship, Clint was sitting on the opposite side, feet propped up against one of the tables while he twirled an arrow around his fingers and Wanda was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a stack of magazines positioned next to her, one already in her hands.

Scott paused for a moment, glancing away from the metal surface he'd previously been knocking at and stared over at Sam with wide eyes. "Can it do that?"

"I don't know! I have no _idea_ what this Wakandan shit can do and I don't wanna find out! Now _stop_ -" He reached over and physically latched his hands onto Scott's wrists. "- _pressing_ _buttons_!" The two of them quickly began to push and shove as Scott tried to free his hands and Sam tried to literally drag him away from the expensive and potentially threatening buttons.

Steve didn't bother swiveling the pilot chair around as he called over his shoulder. "Enough back there."

Natasha smirked from her seat next to the soldier and twisted around to stare at them. "Don't make us turn this plane around, kids."

Scott pouted ever so slightly and finally pulled his hands free of Sam's hold. He stuck his tongue out at the man, ignored his rolling eyes, and walked over to plop down next to Wanda. She gave him a humored look before glancing back down at the magazine. Scott let out a sigh and propped his arm up against his knee, resting his cheek against his fist as he glanced glumly over towards the cockpit. "Can you at least tell me if we're getting there anytime soon?

"Oh, my _lord_!" Sam shouted as he too got up from his seat and moved over towards the others. "Here!" He reached into his pocket and shoved a bag of something brightly colored into the other man's hands. "Not stuff your face and _please_ shut up!"

Scott happily opened the bag of jelly beans and began to pop them into his mouth as Sam kicked Clint's legs down and took the seat next to the archer, who was throwing him a betrayed look. "You were withholding this from me the whole time? I told you I was hungry!"

Sam didn't seem to fazed as he leaned back against the chair and folded his arms underneath his head, shutting his eyes. "It's for emergencies only."

"What kind of emergencies?"

"' _Scott-won't-shut-up-and-is-three-seconds-away-from-getting-strangled_ ' kind of emergencies."

Clint glared at the man before turning towards Scott, who shrugged and popped another jelly bean into his mouth. "I approve."

The archer scoffed and folded his arms, leaning back against his own chair. He glanced over towards Wanda, only catching a small glimpse of the magazine she was reading. "What'cha reading, Wanda?"

The girl looked up at him before shutting the magazine and holding it up for them to see. "It's good to keep up with the news, especially since we're so good at making the headlines nowadays."

"Right, cause..." Sam opened one eye and glanced at the title. "... _People_ magazine is always chalk full of the tough-to-tackle political issues."

The girl waved her hand and leaned back against the floor. "What do you want me to read? A newspaper? I'm not Steve."

"Hey." The man turned his head to throw a look over his shoulder.

Natasha shrugged. "She's got a point."

Steve shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. At least the others were relaxing a bit before their mission. They'd set out not too long ago, set for Washington DC, more specifically, the Damage Control facility that had been the target of numerous robberies, robberies that were not even being reported, let alone dealt with. As he'd expected, the mission briefing had been met with reluctance, once again coming mainly from Scott and Clint.

It didn't take as much convincing as last time for the two of them to come along, but they were still understandably upset. It wasn't just them, though. Steve could tell that the team was stressed, tensions high. With the looming threat of indefinite imprisonment in a floating metal prison thousands of miles into the ocean, it wasn't hard to see why. Steve luckily hadn't experienced too much of the Raft, but the same couldn't be said for the others.

They didn't talk about it much, he didn't push them. Wanda, especially, seemed to distance herself from the very thought of the prison. Steve didn't bludgeon them with the memories. Lord knew there were plenty he himself didn't want to think about.

His thoughts must have begun to show on his face, for he noticed Natasha glancing over at him from the corner of his eye. He quickly cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, pointedly avoiding the spy's watchful eye. "Is there at least anything we should be worrying about in there? Hill hasn't mentioned hearing anything too serious about us recently."

Wanda smirked a bit and flipped through the periodical. "Not unless you want the secret to firming up your beach bod in seven days."

Scott perked up. "I'll take that."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Well if you're gonna keep bribing me with hush-candy, I'm gonna have to start exercising more."

Sam opened his eyes and sat up a bit in his seat, folding his arms and throwing the man an annoyed look. "You could always just stop talking so much."

"Come on. This is no time for jokes."

Sam rolled his eyes while the others let out little chuckles. The two of them had been going back and forth for forever now. Something or other about a rivalry that started at the compound, a one-on-one fight. Sam never talked about it and had practically forbade Scott from even mentioning it, so they could only speculate. However, his gaze wasn't focused on Scott and instead zeroed in on one of the magazines stacked in Wanda's pile, a bit of the cover sticking out just enough for him to see. He furrowed his brow. "Stark?"

Clint, Scott and Wanda glanced over at him. "Huh?"

He reached down and plucked the magazine out of the pile. "He's on this issue."

The archer rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "So what? That egomaniac's always in the news. It's like his lifeblood," he scoffed, Wanda snickering from her seat.

Sam glanced over at the man before turning back to the magazine in his hands. "Oh, really? So ' _Stark Vs. Parkstem: The Battle For the Boy_ ' doesn't peak your interest?" He asked, flipping the magazine over for them all to see.

" _What?!_ "

Steve winced at the loud shout that echoed around the cabin of the ship, his own eyes widening ever so slightly at the title. He glanced over at Natasha, watching her grimace slightly before mumbling a small curse. He narrowed his eyes at her, watching as she turned to him and gave him a small knowing look of ' _tell you later'_. He clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner before standing up from his seat, leaving the ship on autopilot. Natasha followed behind him as they both slowly made their way over towards their chattering teammates.

"Alright, alright, settle down," he tried, only for his calming words to basically wash completely past them. Scott stared eagerly at the cover of the periodical before turning to Sam with childlike excitement, practically bouncing on the floor. "What's it say?!"

Sam scanned his eyes over the cover, taking note of the page number the story was on and quickly flipped through the pages, a curious silence falling over the others as they watched his eyes trail over the page. "Uhh... _'last few weeks, we've been speculating,'_ blah, blah, blah...' _seen with a mystery boy at a local NYC deli'_ yada, yada, yada...' _Sources have uncovered that the unknown teenager seen on multiple occasions with billionaire Tony Stark is actually the son of Parkstem Labs tech superstar, Richard Parker, fourteen-year-old Peter Parker.'"_

Clint laughed from his seat. "Yeah, right!"

"See for yourself!" Sam thrust the magazine into the archer's hands. Clint stared at the pages for a moment, blinking his eyes before his jaw slackened in shock. Something resembling a huff of laughter escaped his lips as he passed the magazine towards Wanda, who in turn passed it to Scott.

"What the heck is Stark doing messing around with a teenager?" Clint sneered. "He _hates_ kids!"

Scott scanned his own eyes over the article, Natasha glancing at it from over his shoulder. "Apparently that's what everybody else is wondering. Neither Stark nor Parker have made a comment on the subject so everybody's kinda been left to delve up their own theories." He lifted the magazine to Natasha, who only glanced at it for a moment before handing it over to Steve.

He gingerly plucked it from her hands before smoothening it out, hesitantly eyeing the article.

It was the first time he'd seen Tony in months...

...and he was sitting on a curb...a New York curb...in Queens. He didn't believe what he was seeing. Tony Stark, billionaire nitpicker who had his own private elevator just to avoid being contaminated by other people's presence was sitting on a dirty curb outside of what appeared to be a deli of some sort. He was dressed casually, in nothing but jeans and the T-shirts he used to wear around the tower, talking to some... _kid_.

It was a boy, apparently fourteen if the article was actually true, but he could have been younger. He _looked_ younger. He was a tiny little thing, with pale ivory skin and soft brown curls that hung down around his big doe-brown eyes.

Steve couldn't help but take in the look on their faces, on Tony's face. He was smiling...actually smiling. And not just the common Tony Stark, million-dollar smirk that he plastered on for every photo shoot or business meeting. No, Steve knew _that_ smile. It was fake and hard and pretentious. This was...this was not that. This was genuine. This was Tony actually looking relaxed, talking about...something with this kid who looked so happy just sitting next to the man.

Staring at the picture, Steve couldn't help but look away, passing it back to Natasha. It was like he was looking at something intimate, private, something he shouldn't be seeing...something nobody should be seeing. He couldn't help but wonder if Tony was worrying about the article. Knowing him, he probably was, in his own stubborn way.

Steve had been so engrossed in the picture that he hadn't realized the others had been talking around him. He quickly tuned back in.

"-o way. I so do not believe this!"

Wanda's face scrunched up. "What is Stark playing at here? Why is he messing around with the son of his rival competitor?"

Natasha read over the article, face hard. "According to this, some people are speculating the kid's a spy." Steve noticed her voice was colder than usual. She was angry about something. He glanced at her, but couldn't read her face. Not surprising.

Sam leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "For who? Stark or the dad?"

"Nobody seems to be in agreement on that yet. Could go either way."

Clint chuckled in his seat, shaking his head as he grinned. "Damn, and here I thought Stark couldn't be anymore of a dick. Guess I underestimated him yet again."

Steve's face twitched at the words as he folded his arms over his chest. "I don't believe it."

The others turned to him.

"There's been no official comment from either Stark of this...Parker guy. As far as we know, this story is nothing but media fluff. Besides, using a kid to get to his dad...seems a bit much, even for Tony." Steve shifted on his feet, feeling his muscles tense underneath his hands. "As long as I've known him, he's never once shown any interest in Parkstem Labs. It's like Oscorp to him, not even a _blip_ on his radar."

Wanda's eyes glowed red ever so slightly as the magazine was suddenly plucked out of Natasha's hands and floated over to her, landing in her own grip. She shook it ever so slightly towards the others. "Well, he's with _somebody_ in this picture. I don't know who..." she flipped the magazine around and glanced down at the fine print. "... _Peter Parker_ is, but who's to say this kid isn't him?"

Natasha folded her own arms and threw the girl a look. "Are we really gonna start trusting the media now? With everything that's happened, wouldn't it be wise of us to take everything with a grain of salt nowadays?"

Clint took the magazine from Wanda's hands and stared at it for a good long while. "Well, unless they've gotten very creative with their photoshop skills, this picture is legit." He straightened back up and tossed the periodical down onto the floor, near Scott. "This kid exists, and for some reason, he's hanging around that parasite, Stark. Now, why any _sane_ person would stay within three feet of that douchebag, I don't know. He's never really been the sweetest, even towards kids."

Scott gazed down at the picture, lifting his head back up hesitantly. "Seems to be pretty happy in this photo, though," he murmured cautiously, knowing the overall consensus when it came to the billionaire in question.

Clint barked out a laugh, leaning forward to face the man. "Yeah, okay. I know you don't really know him, Scott, and for that I envy you. But here's a little tidbit on Stark." His face curled into a condescending little smirk, eyes filling with a dangerous glint. "The guy's a world class conman. Everything he says and does is a trick. A trick to the media, to the public, to his teammates." His voice took on a hard edge as he continued. "He'll lie right through his teeth and blind you with a thousand-watt smile while stabbing you right in the back."

He leaned closer, causing Scott to rear back in response. "Stark only cares about Stark...and he'll roll over anybody to protect himself."

Steve felt his stomach churning at the words, swallowing the bile rising in the back of his throat as his fists clenched. "That's not true, Clint." His voice was soft, tired. The others glanced up, obviously noting the air of exhaustion surrounding the words. Clint either didn't notice or didn't care. He stared right back up at the man, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, really? You're telling me that we've never had to pay for his lies before? That we've never been on the brunt end of the stick catching the flack for his mistakes, for each and every time he chose to lie to us? What do you think _Ultron_ was? That was a full blown personified lie coming back to bite us all in the ass because Stark couldn't push down his goddamn ego long enough to actually trust us, his own teammates!" The man blew out a sigh before turning his head away, sucking in a breath before lifting his gaze and staring Steve right in the eyes.

"You don't lie to your team, Cap. You just don't."

Steve said nothing at that, watching as Clint shook his head and leaned back down in the seat, a new tension hanging heavy in the air, the same terseness that always seemed to arise whenever the topic of Stark came to the table. The solider lowered his gaze and stepped away from the others, silently making his way back over towards the cockpit. Natasha watched him leave before wordlessly following, leaving the others to keep discussing.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and gestured lazily to the magazine, a new wave of heaviness weighing down around them. "Well, whoever this kid is, he better scram ASAP. Messing around with Stark will only get him burned." Wanda and Clint grumbled their agreements, their faces dower and annoyed.

Scott glanced around at the others, taking note of the palpable tension now sitting among them. He scrunched his face for a moment before cracking a small smile, reaching over towards Wanda's pile of magazines and taking the first off the top. "What I really wanna know is what the secret is to being a successful woman in the professional field while also being a superstar mommy."

The others threw him strange looks, but he continued with a smirk. "I mean, that's a tough gig and I could definitely use the six helpful tricks to being a CEO in the office and in the home."

It was obvious what he was trying to do. The man held his breath as he waited to see whether of not the others were gonna take the bait. Clint stared at the man for a moment before letting a small smile fall onto his own face. Leave it to Scott to try and clear up the air. He reached over towards the magazine pile and picked up another issue, slapping the cover with the back of his hand. "That's nothing. Apparently my skin can be too clean?! I need to find out the secret to perfect skin with nothing but banana peels, rose water and cucumbers."

Wanda giggled and yanked out another magazine. "Maybe afterwards, I can fill you in on the #fashionformula for every body and budget."

Sam patted his stomach. "Oh, good. I have been feeling a little bloated in these outfits lately."

Natasha could hear the laughter of her teammates ringing out around the ship, her lips spreading into a soft smile as she watched Scott pass out the magazines with a stupidly-huge grin on his face. The man, despite his constant spew of annoying word vomit, seemed to have a knack for getting them all to relax and unwind, which was a good skill to have nowadays when they constantly seemed to be at each other's throats.

Speaking of, the woman glanced back towards Steve, who was sitting back in his chair at the front of the ship, manning the controls for a plane that could probably fly itself better than any human could. She sucked in a small breath before slowly making her way over to the co-pilot seat next to him, silently sliding down into the chair. The man didn't glance her way, just kept his eyes on the clear glass ahead of him, the clouds dark and gray as the sun began to dip down below the horizon.

"So who is he?"

She sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Just some kid."

"Come on, Natasha. I know you know more than that."

She didn't answer for a moment, long enough that Steve wondered if she was going to at all. After a second, she brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He noticed she seemed to be reluctant to speak, which he filed as odd. Natasha had never been one to shy away from snooping through people's personal histories and had even less of a problem with sharing them. Yet, she still seemed...reserved.

Nevertheless, she shrugged and quickly placed back on a mask of indifference that he'd grown so accustomed to seeing. "He really _is_ Richard Parker's kid, I can tell you that."

The soldier drummed his fingers against the cool metal surface of the controls. "So what is Tony doing messing around with his competitor's kid?"

"Not whatever you're thinking, Steve, so you better nip it now." She folded her arms, knee bouncing as she glanced away, eyeing the sleek design etched into the walls of the ship. "I don't know whether it's just coincidence or something else that got the kid on Tony's radar, but it's nothing like that. You know Tony."

"Maybe I _did_. But we aren't exactly on the same wavelength anymore, Nat." He paused for a moment, face scrunching slightly in thought. "Richard Parker...I know that name. Heard he's a pretty good guy."

The woman didn't respond to his comment, choosing to brush past it altogether. "I've only met the kid a few times. He's nice. Quiet, reclusive, _painfully_ shy."

"Doesn't really sound like Tony's kind of kid."

"You'd be surprised."

"...I bet I would."

It wasn't hard to miss the resigned tone of voice he spoke with, hand resting against his mouth as he stared out the windows of the plane, gazing over the dark expanse of graying clouds.

The woman hesitated for only a moment before pressing her foot hard against the floor and pushing her chair so that it was now fully facing him. He cast his eyes over to her, cocking a brow in response. She leaned forward in the chair, clasping her hands together. "You okay?"

He held her gaze for a second before dropping his hand and nodding. "Fine. I'm...I'm fine."

"You're still a pretty shit liar, Rogers."

He smirked. "Well, you're hardly impartial."

"It doesn't take super spy skills to read your pages. You practically bookmark them for me."

He huffed a small laugh, spreading his lips into a tight smile before moving his eyes back over towards the window. He knew it wasn't likely that the woman was going to drop it anytime soon, but maybe she'd get the hint and just leave him alone until they reached the drop-point.

"...He has a point, you know. Clint..."

Steve shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, not even bothering in turning his chair to face her. He knew what her face would look like. It was the same look she'd been giving him for months now. He didn't need to see it tonight.

"He...he wasn't talking about me."

She folded her arms. "He might as well have. You should tell them the truth. Tell them about why you and Tony really fought in Siberia...Tell all of us."

It was never an easy thing to pick out emotion in Natasha's words, for she was an expert in only letting people hear what she wanted them to hear. Still, Steve knew her well enough at this point to detect the subtle undertones of hurt lacing the back edges of her words.

An itch began to spread through his muscles, making them coil around his bones as his knee bobbed up and down and his fingers continued to thrum against the armrest.

It had been nearly two months and they still didn't know, didn't know the real story behind why he and Tony had fought.

As far as they were concerned, as far as he let them believe, he and Bucky had taken care of the super soldiers holed up in Siberia, disposed of and erased the problem. They had filled in the rest of the pieces when he'd told them of the fight between him and the billionaire.

He'd never corrected them.

They'd ask for details, he'd say it was complicated. Back and forth.

 _Coward_.

He could still see it. The look in Tony's eyes as he watched his parents be killed right before him, the culprit within an arm's length, standing in the same room, breathing the same air. The wave of betrayal that had masked over his features as he learned the truth, a truth Steve had been so desperate to conceal.

The guilt that pooled in his stomach sat heavy, a bitter tang forever resting in the back of his throat. Natasha suspected, she _always_ suspected. Steve supposed she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

_You don't deserve it._

He turned his head to meet her gaze, hoping his eyes conveyed the truth in his words. "It's not that I don't trust you, Nat."

She raised a hand to stop him. "I know. I get it. I do. It's not easy. But we're here to listen." She gestured towards the others, whose voices were loud and echoed through the ship, merry and filled with a sense of relaxation that wasn't usually present anymore. "And I know those bozos are pretty quick to anger nowadays, but...I'm still here. I like to consider myself a pretty level head."

The normal smirk she used was gone, replaced with a gentle smile that she only used for special occasions, the smile Steve knew to be genuine. "I'll listen...when you're ready."

Steve blinked at her, chest aching as he felt a sense of closeness he hadn't felt since Siberia, since since he'd lost Tony and Bucky all in such a short period of time. He smiled back at her, voice quiet. "Thanks, Nat." He glanced over his shoulders at the others, who were still gathered in a circle tossing jokes and laughing around. He smiled and gestured towards them. "We're still a few hours out. You should relax while you can."

She watched them for a moment before blowing out a breath, gently smacking her palms against her knees and stood from the chair. "Can I trust you enough to leave you alone?"

He rolled his eyes. "I _really_ don't think there are any ejection buttons up here."

"You'd be surprised. Wakandans, man. They don't play."

He chuckled, the woman giving him a pat on the shoulder before stepping down the steps that lead up to the cockpit, ambling lazily towards the others. He turned away and faced the giant windows of the glass windscreen before him.

The clouds were heavy with rain, thick and dark and gloomy. The sun had long-since sunken into the gray expanse, leaving the sky yearning for its light.

The man let out a small sigh, leaning back into the chair as he gazed out over the scenery, suddenly reminded of the Quinjet. Flying back from a mission, the voices of his teammates joyful from a successful raid. Nat poking fun at Clint, Wanda and Vision complimenting each other on their attacks, Sam cooing over them to get a room, Tony chastising them for making a mess on his ship and yelling at Steve to control his rowdy toddlers.

Steve's small smile slowly dissipated as he was dragged back to the present, a present that seemed to drag on with each and every day of hell they now found themselves in, where every hour brought the threat of detection, of SWAT guards and S-JOC snipers aiming to kill.

The guilt that had been hanging in his stomach for months mingled with the flare of anger that always surged through him at the thought, the thought of the Avengers in literal shambles because of the billionaire's actions, actions that had led to them ending up in that bunker, fighting for their lives.

It only strengthened the idea curling around his mind. Yes, he had his fair share of guilt to carry, and he'd hold onto it for as long as he needed.

But he wasn't the only one with ashes on his hands.

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Ridgewood, Queens - 57th Street**

**08:56 p.m.**

It _had_ to be getting heavier. The necklace hadn't weighed so much that morning, Peter was _sure_ of it.

Loud voices, and cheerful laughter filled the street as the gathered people milled around, beer bottles in hand, sandwiches in others, smiles on their faces. The glowing neon sign of Delmar's illuminated the street, masking everyone's faces in glowing red and blue light. A small radio had been set up, blasting music from its speakers that echoed down the street. A group of people had gathered in the street, cheering on the tournament of cornhole that was commencing.

It was Wednesday night, _Delmar's_ and the other stores on the strip had specials on the last Wednesday of the month, letting people gather around their stores, chatting about their days, unwinding with cold drinks; Franky's Bar, Rosa's burger joint, Stella's taco truck. Even the stores that didn't sell food closed up early for the night just to join the monthly get-together: Mr. Murray's newsstand, Ms. Ricardo's flower shop.

It had become something of a tradition on 57th street. Everyone in Queens knew about it.

Peter noticed a few other games commencing in the street, but didn't feel like jumping down from his perch to join. He was out of the way on his little seat, away from any pushing and shoving. He'd already been bumped in the shoulder earlier, eliciting a wince of pain from him as his injured shoulder ached in discomfort. The pain had long-since subsided, but the teen decided it would be best to stay off to the side, away from the crowds.

A particularly loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Someone was probably winning. Peter didn't look up, though. He just kept looping through the colors on the necklace. _Gray, red, yellow, white, black, gray, red..._

_"You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"_

His hand shook, the beads clattering together.

The back of his neck tingled all of a sudden, causing Peter to turn his head towards the soda can being tossed towards him. He caught it easily, lifting his eyes towards Mr. Delmar as the man approached, cleaning his hands off with the rag he kept in his apron.

_"There! See? Out of sight, out of mind!"_

He quickly shoved the necklace back into his pocket as the older man approached. "What's the matter? Not gonna join?" The man angled his head towards the games in the street.

Peter shrugged his shoulder and tapped his finger against the unopened lid of the can. "Not in the mood, I guess."

Mr. Delmar leaned back against the raining next to the boy. "Long day?"

"Something like that, yeah."

The man opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by hands falling onto his shoulder. Both Peter and Mr. Delmar turned towards the newcomers, Rosa and Mr. Murray. The former was a short, round, dark-skinned woman with black hair tied up into a bun with a bright red bandana resting against her head, stained apron tied around her waist. The other was a tall, skinny man with pale graying hair underneath his newsie cap. The woman smirked, bright red lips spreading wide. "Boy, this party was _made_ for long days." Her voice had a simple southern hint to it, reminding Peter of his early-morning chat. Unlike his guidance counselor, however, this woman's voice was warm and comforting.

Peter tossed her a smile. "Hi, Rosa."

She sidestepped the other men, coming up on the boy's other side and pinching his cheeks ever so slightly. He scrunched his eyes at the touch, but didn't pull away. "How you doin', baby?"

"I'm alright."

Delmar folded his arms. "Yeah? Cause my daughter said you haven't moved from that perch of yours all night. She can see you from the window." He jammed his thumb behind him in the direction of the store. Peter glanced back, taking note of Gabriella manning the register inside. She noticed his staring and gave a small wave, to which he gave one in return.

Mr. Murray tipped his hat back and leaned up against the side of the bodega. "What's up, little man?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing's up. Just...you know, don't feel like mingling right now."

"Well, where are your little friends?" Rosa asked. "The chubby boy and funny girl. You usually love bringing them down here. You three always dominate in the cornhole tournaments."

The teen glanced down at the soda can in his hands, sliding his nail underneath the tab.

_"Misery Loves Company!"_

"At home, I guess. I don't know." He flicked his flinger up, the metal sliding through the can as the familiar hiss of air being released met his ears. The others must have taken note of the quiet edge to his voice, for Mr. Delmar raised a brow at the kid. "Jeez, just how long of a day are we talking about here?"

Peter raised the can. "The longest," he said before taking a drink.

Murray leaned closer. "Yeah? Home or school?"

"Both."

The man hummed before reaching down and picking up an opened beer bottle he must have brought with him from his newsstand. "Yeah, well word of advice, kid." He gestured to the bottle before taking a swig. " _Alcohol_. Solves all your problems."

Rosa clicked her tongue, glaring at the man. " _Tch_ , don't tell him that!" She grabbed Peter's hand and gave it a little shake. "Don't you listen to this bad man, Sugar. His days are numbered."

Peter snickered as he watched them begin to argue back and forth, smile spreading onto his face as he watched. He had to admit, after the day he'd had, the sight of so many people milling around, chatting happily and enjoying themselves was quite a sight.

After his little... _talk_ with Ms. O'Hara, Peter had stepped out of her office to take in the empty hallways. Before the bell rang to let kids out of their classrooms, the teen had been pushing through the front doors to the school, slowly stepping down the stairs and just...stood there, no plan.

There weren't many options for him. He couldn't go home, not with the Cons lurking around there doing God knew what. He couldn't go swing around and pass the time as somebody better, not with his arm still fairly out of sorts. And he couldn't stay in that school, avoiding everybody's eyes, ignoring their whispers, reciting lie after lie.

So he'd left. He'd ignored the messages that had begun to pour in from Ned and MJ wondering where he was and he'd started walking. He hadn't really had a clear destination in mind as he'd started off, just knew he couldn't stay within the walls of the school, couldn't stand the thought of being in the same building as Ms. O'Hara, even if she _was_ on the other side of it. Just the thought of her being around was enough to have him scurrying off.

He tried staying in Midtown, but quickly realized the story of him and Mr. Stark was still a hot topic. He couldn't go five blocks without seeing a newspaper with his name or a TV blabbering on about Mr. Stark and his father. And where there wasn't, there were people staring at him.

Peter Parker had always been content in the background, but now here he was, front and center, on display for everybody to see.

After an hour or two of avoiding eyes and ducking his head, Peter finally ended up back in Queens, one foot after the other. He didn't head to Springshore. Didn't feel like dodging his neighbors' questions and judging looks. He contemplated going to see May before deciding against it, not wanting to risk the Cons seeing him out of school.

So instead, he'd been milling through the neighborhood, avoiding the rich side of town, where just about everybody was friends with his father and might recognize him. He'd instead headed down to 57th Street and the adjoining neighborhoods, where everybody recognized him for very _different_ reasons.

Here, they didn't just know him as Richard Parker's son. Instead they knew him as Peter, the quiet kid that walked the streets with his chubby little nerd friend, spouting off random geeky facts or buying sandwiches and betting on who could finish first or playing card games outside the stores.

They still didn't _know_ him, but they knew better than the papers, better than those in Manhattan. They were neighbors, a community. He knew _them,_ knew that Mr. Delmar always sneaked him extra sandwiches, that Rosa paid him here and there for a few odd jobs she'd have him do just for the sake of stuffing a few bills in his hands, knew that Murray always rolled his eyes and winked at Peter whenever his father was mentioned at some charity ball or some other stuffy brown-nosing event. He knew Queens. He loved Queens. And maybe it was because he was so different from the other people that came from the rich side of town, but they seemed to love him back.

Mr. Murray tapped Peter's shoulder with his beer bottle, startling the kid back into conversation. "You know, my newsstand just got a new story. A very _interesting_ story if I do say so myself." He brought the bottle to his lips and swigged another sip before pulling it back. "You wanna explain it?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really."

"Come on. Being the only news source with an exclusive from _the_ Peter Parker? My babies will sell like hot cakes!"

Mr. Delmar bumped him in the shoulder "Leave the kid alone, man."

Murray raised his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm just saying."

Rosa rolled her eyes before glancing towards Peter, eyes sympathetic. "You getting much trouble for that?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders, staring down at the can in his hands, watching the condensation drip down the sides, splashing down against his skin. "People talk. I try not to listen."

The air of silence followed keyed Peter into the fact that the others were probably sharing looks. He didn't look up. He didn't need to see them. He got enough of that from his friends. It was another reason why he'd skipped school. He couldn't take those damn looks.

_"They don't deserve to deal with your issues, with your life, do they?"_

He gripped the soda can just a little tighter. He knew she was wrong. She was awful! She _had_ to be wrong! And yet...he couldn't help but see some truth to her words, hear a sense of logic in them.

He wasn't anybody else's problem, and yet they seemed to make it their mission to worry about him. Ned, MJ, May, Mr. Stark, hell even his teachers, Mr. Delmar, the store owners! Each and every one of them spent time thinking about him, _worrying_ about him. It made him feel sick, made the guilt in his chest build up. They didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve to worry so much about him when he could very well take care of himself. He didn't _need_ their sympathies, their concerns. He'd never _asked_ for them! But who was he to complain? It was his own damn fault for making them worry. It was his own fucking fault for not lying well enough!

He rubbed his finger against the sleek metal of the can, smooth and cold, drops of water sliding down.

Lies...so many lies...to so many people.

He heard someone clear their throat, causing his eyes to lift towards Murray. The man was shooting him a strange look before it disappeared and he was shrugging once more, tipping his cap back again. "Usually when I get a high brow in the newspapers, they can't WAIT to share their story, gabbing it up to all the local reporters trying to extend their little flash in the pan. What a bunch of idiots. I can't stand them. Talking about how it's hard to be successful when they started out in the bottom, talking about Queens like it's a rat infested little hovel. The whole lot of them can go screw themselves for all I care, living it up on the rich side of town, staring down at us from their ivory towers."

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure where the man was going with this or why he'd brought it up. He grunted, however, when the man suddenly wrapped an arm around the teen's shoulders, dragging him in closer. "Well, screw them! We got ourselves one of their own, and we're slowly converting him to the dark side!"

"You're damn right!" Rosa beamed, ruffling the teen's hair.

Mr. Delmar rolled his eyes. "Please. As far as I'm concerned. Pete here was born and raised right here on 57th street. I don't care who his big-shot daddy is. He's one of us, through and through."

Peter stared at them, feeling their hands on him and the uncomfortable closeness of their bodies near his. And yet, the teen couldn't help but smile as their words sank in, eyes misting ever so slightly as he let out a small laugh, mainly just to clear up the shakiness in his voice. "Thanks, guys."

Rosa pursed her lips. "Then again, in true Queens fashion, we are _incredibly_ nosy. "

Peter snorted and pushed them away. "Talk to Murray then. He lives and breathes the city gossip. I'm sure he knows more about this story than even I do."

"Nuh-uh. I got no earthy idea why you're hanging around with Tony Stark."

Rosa raised a brow. "Or why that douchebag daddy of yours would let you."

Peter shrugged. "You got me there. I'm still at a loss on that one."

Delmar huffed out a laugh before curling his fingers into a fist and knocking Peter in the side of the arm. "Whatever the case, I gotta thank you, kid. With this story of yours blowing up all around the city, I got people from all over coming to the store, buying up my shit. You ever feel like taking another picture with that friend of yours, don't hesitate to use my bodega as the backdrop again, huh?" he joked, Peter smiling as he remembered the picture that was being used in almost every newspaper was the one of him and Mr. Stark sitting outside of this very bodega. He supposed it _would_ cause foot traffic to blow up.

Rosa shrugged her shoulders. "Well I don't know. Maybe that friend of yours will fancy some burgers next time. How bout it?" She elbowed him in the side, Peter giggling as he shied away. "I'll keep that in mind."

Murray furrowed his brow, gesturing towards the kid with his bottle. "So...are you guys _friends?_ Is he your boss? What's the story here, kid? I'm dying. What are you two?"

Peter opened his mouth to respond, only to find no words to release. He paused and sucked in a small breath as he found he didn't really have an answer for the man. _What were they, really?_ Sure Mr. Stark had described him as an intern, but did that mean he was really his _boss_? He didn't _act_ like a boss. Didn't order him around like one. A mentor, maybe? But Mr. Stark didn't really seem like the mentoring type. More like the kind to keep you around because you're interesting and entertaining and he doesn't have anything better to fill his time.

_Distraction._

Peter winced at the word that entered his brain, mind jumping back to Central Park for just a flash before he pushed it away. He couldn't get into that now. "He's not...I-I guess...we're just..." He sighed and gave a small shrug. "I guess I don't know." He tried to ignore how the realization made his stomach churn ever so slightly.

Mr. Murray didn't say anything for a moment before clicking his tongue and pointing the bottle at him again. "Well if I were you, I'd figure it out soon...before the papers do it for you."

**. . . . .**

A roll of thunder made Peter lift his head towards the sky. The sun set hours ago, leaving a black sky in its wake, too black to make out any clouds, but Peter could tell they were there, waiting to let down a downpour _all day._ He knew he should get home before it _did_ start raining, but his feet kept moving and they weren't moving towards home.

He'd left the gathering outside of Delmar's _hours_ ago, when the approaching storm had begun to filter out the crowds. Mr. Delmar had offered to give the kid a ride home, but Peter had declined, saying he could get home just fine on his own. Another lie. He just wanted an excuse to stay away for as long as possible.

He felt a small drop of water land on his nose as he stood on the sidewalk which was fairly empty save for one or two people rushing past, most likely trying to get home before the rain started. There was an eerie sort of quiet around him, a silence not well known in Queens. There was always a car alarm, a voice, an engine, something. But now, it was as if the entire neighborhood had buckled down and scurried inside to wait out the storm.

As his lifted gaze began to drop back down, Peter's eyes caught a gleam of light in the distance, his feet finally stopping at he made out what it was. Stark Tower, bright as could be in the darkening sky.

Once again, a gnawing pit seemed to stretch into his gut, a yearning sense of longing as he reached his arms up to wrap around himself, a particularly strong gust of wind blowing past him before dying down again. Another drop of rain.

It was Wednesday. Technically an internship day. He was _supposed_ to go to the tower, see Mr. Stark. Was he expecting him? Had Happy been waiting outside of school this afternoon...waiting for him? Did Mr. Stark _want_ to see him?

He shook his head and pressed on down the sidewalk. From up above, someone called down at him from their window, telling him to get inside and asking where he was going. He said home. Another lie. His throat stung, the taste bitter on his tongue. He kept walking in the opposite direction of his house.

So many goddamn lies...

It wasn't wrong. He knew that. He was helping people with those lies, saving them from the harsh reality of the truth, keeping that fear from them. The lies were so much simpler, so much easier, so much nicer to look at, to hear. But they were just so... _heavy,_ so hard to carry; to remember what detail he'd told to whom. He had the practice for it of course, ten years of it. It still didn't get easier. It got more automatic, of course, but never _easier_. Not when it was hard to know where the lies ended and the truth began on some days.

_"Tell me what they did to you. Let me help you."_

Not to mention, it got _exponentially_ harder when people started _poking_ at the lies. And Mr. Stark seemed to _love_ poking at them, finding the holes, sniffing out the details. The teen couldn't help but give a small humored scoff. "At least he's motivated, I'll give him that _,"_ he muttered to himself.

Despite the frustrations he'd felt towards the man that morning, Peter couldn't help wondering what he was doing right now, what _they_ would be doing if he'd shown up. Would they be working in the lab? Designing the specs for the new nanotech he'd shown him on Thursday...the last truly "normal" day they'd had together. It seemed so far away now, with everything that had happened.

As he stared at the glowing building in the distance, Peter found himself missing that "normal", missing those interactions, easy and simple and _real_. He didn't have to _pretend_ as much with Mr. Stark, could bust out the little lies instead of the usual big ones. Another drop of rain. And another. Peter wondered what Mr. Stark would say if he saw him right now, the teen cracking a small smile as he thought of the man throwing out a joke about him looking like a little lost spider, searching for a water spout to climb or something like that.

Peter sucked in another breath, calmer this time. Who was to say they couldn't get back to that " _normal_ " again? Maybe that's exactly what Mr. Stark wanted too. Now that he'd seen firsthand that Peter wasn't going to crack under his line of questioning and pushing and prodding, maybe the man would drop it and let them go back to their usual weekly routine of lab work and impromptu take-out dinners.

The teen swallowed the lump in his throat as he smiled, a new sense of confidence from his talk with Delmar and the gang filling his chest.

_I could talk to him, pretend everything's normal. Maybe pretend hard enough to make it true._

He wanted to see DUM-E. He wanted to see Pepper and Rhodey and even Happy with his grumblings. He wanted to work on his lab projects and beam as Mr. Stark complimented him on something. He wanted to see Mr. Stark. He wanted to see _Tony._

Another group of raindrops landed on his face as the teen straightened up, hoisting his backpack higher up onto his shoulders as he whipped his head around, trying to spot the nearest alleyway before he lost whatever confidence had suddenly bubbled into him.

_Bingo!_

With a grin, he ran over, quickly sliding behind the dumpsters as he unzipped his bag. Despite his injuries perhaps implying otherwise, Peter had been itching to swing for a _week_ now! With his bum leg, messed up chest and broken arm with matching mangled shoulder, he'd done away with the idea of crime-fighting for the time being, knowing he'd either stress his injuries more or get some new ones by trying to fight bad guys with a horde of disabling wounds. Nevertheless, he'd taken to carrying the suit around anyways, an empty feeling weighing in his stomach whenever he left it at home.

Reaching into his bag, he grabbed his suit, smiling as his fingers ran over the familiar texture. Quickly stripping down to his boxers, he slipped the suit on, grinning like an idiot at the feeling of comfort as the suit morphed to his skin. Stuffing his clothes back into his bag, he slipped the mask onto his head and down over his face, breathing in deeply as he felt a surge of power trail through his muscles. He curled and uncurled his fingers, relishing in the feel of the suit, of Spider-Man.

He rotated his shoulder, wincing ever so slightly before doing another set. He could do this. He could power through it. He shook off his nerves of seeing the billionaire, steeling himself with the thought that everything would go back to normal if he just pretended it was. He could do this. He'd just ask Mr. Stark to forget about everything that'd happened in Central Park, forget about this entire _week_ and get things back to how they were. Things were good before, they could be good again. He could do this. They'd be fine and he'd forget about tomorrow, forget about what it meant, forget about the weight of the necklace in his bag, the necklace he refused to take out, the necklace he refused to think about.

He. Could. _Do_. This.

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Conference Room A**

**11:04 p.m.**

Tony blew out a haggard sigh as he leaned back against the chair, the full weight of the day sinking through his bones, seeming to draw his body down towards the ground. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper escorted the Senators towards the elevators, the day of discussions, propositions and arguing finally drawing to a close.

At least...it was _almost_ closed. If he could just get rid of this tick that didn't seem to want to leave.

Ross brought the glass of scotch to his lips as he glanced over the roughly drafted documents they'd written up during the meeting, a copy of the ones the Senators were taking with them back to Washington to go over with the rest of the Accords committee. The man glared down at the papers with a disgruntled gleam in his eyes, the look making Tony feel just a little better as he watched Ross toss the stack down onto the table, turning back to him.

"This is never going to work, you know. What you're advising..."

Tony sighed and rested an elbow on the chair's armrest, rubbing at his eyes. When was the last time he'd gotten some sleep? "What? Giving people rights? Creating a fair and plausible Accords that actually does its job of, oh I don't know...keeping people safe?"

"The Accords already _do_ keep people safe."

"I mean _all_ people, enhanced individuals included."

Ross scoffed and turned away. Tony narrowed his eyes and straightened up in his chair. "I know you'd probably rather go on believing that they're dangerous criminals who should be locked up and experimented on-"

"Don't be absurd, Stark. I know how much you love it, but try to restrain your base instincts for once." The man stared down at the glass in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, a bit quieter. "These Accords are important-"

"I agree."

"-in that they give a certain sense of regulation...control. Do you know how many enhanced individuals there are out there right now? A number."

Tony matched his gaze but didn't say anything. Ross continued. "Based on the numbers we've been running, it's close to a million, just in the US alone. So far, the public knows of only a handful: your colorful friends."

The billionaire's face twitched at the comment, but he continued to remain silent.

"And all those people, all those numbers...they're a threat."

Tony scoffed and leaned forward. "Why? Because they're different?"

"Because they have the power to _become_ a threat."

"So does everybody else in the world, Ross! What? We gonna start going home to home demanding vetting checks just cause you're a little paranoid?" Tony couldn't help the frustrated smile that fell onto his face as he held in another rebuke. He pushed himself out of the chair, pushing it up against the table as he sucked in a steadying breath. He could feel his left arm give a twinge of pain. He resisted the urge to grab his wrist. "Look, I still believe in the Accords, in a sense of accountability. But the Accords _you_ seem so adamant in pushing through, it's just...it's _ridiculous,_ downright dangerous. Demanding that every enhanced individual check in on some national registry? Provide DNA sampling? It's-

"Necessary."

"Laughable...if it wasn't so horrifying," he muttered, more as an afterthought than anything else. He turned back towards the man. "And what would happen if someone refused? Huh? You gonna throw them on the Raft?"

The Secretary narrowed his eyes. "If we need to."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips at that, bringing a hand to his forehead. "God...I don't know how you landed this job."

"Decades of hard work, work that's paid off time and time again." The Secretary set the glass down onto the table, folding his arms behind his back. "But I could very well ask the same question about you. Just what _are_ your qualifications to even be considered in this process?

Tony blinked for a moment before spreading his arms and gesturing around at the office. "Uhh...a multi-billion dollar company? The high-tech suits sitting under your feet? The _two_ world-ending events I helped stop. Tell me, Ross. What was it like when _you_ flew a nuke into a wormhole? We can exchange notes."

This time it was Ross who let out a little chuckle, the man staring down at the floor as he shook his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit. "God, you are such a narcissistic little prick."

"Mandatory. In the job description."

Ross glanced back over at the table, at the stack of papers still sitting in the center. "You have no business with this. This is government work, cleaning up the mess you and your clowns made."

"So...you want me to take responsibility for my messes by... _not_ taking responsibility for them? Can you see the confusion here, _sir?_ " he asked, the last word simply _dripping_ in attitude, something Ross obviously picked up on if the way his brow twitched was any indication.

"Taking responsibility...is that what you're doing with Steve Rogers? With Leipzig? With letting those criminal friends of his escape from the Raft?"

Tony rolled his eyes and began to make his way towards the door. "Not my fault you can't keep track of your stuff," he called over his shoulder, leaving Ross in the room alone. The man was quick to follow him, however, much to the billionaire's chagrin. Maybe he could lose him in the R&D department...

"Rogers is dangerous. His _gang of rebels_ is dangerous. And with him out there wreaking havoc-"

"What havoc has been wreaked?" Tony turned onto a long hallway, the large windows lining one entire wall revealing the dark sky currently spreading, soft rolls of thunder echoing outside. "It's been unusually quiet on my end of the street."

Ross furrowed his brow in annoyance. "We've gotten reports of weapons arsenals being rounded up on the streets. Manufacturing plants being taken down, creating illegal alien weaponry. Damage done to the sellers and the surrounding area lines up with the Rogues."

"You want me to go after them for beating up a few penny-thugs? What's next? Arrest King T'Challa for littering?"

The Secretary sidestepped the man and got in front of him, causing him to halt in his tracks and throw the man an unimpressed look. "They seem to think that continuing their band of vigilantism will go without consequences. It won't. Sooner or later, they're gonna hit something big and I'll have to deal with it, meaning _you'll_ have to deal with it. And I-"

"Can't officially call me in for anything classifying under a FPCON-B3 emergency. So until they kidnap the President or hijack a military base, I'll be wasting my time on more important things." The billionaire muttered, stepping around the man to continue down the hall.

"Like Richard Parker?"

Tony froze in his step, fingers twitching by his sides as he turned his head back towards Ross. The Secretary was now folding his arms over his chest, face infuriatingly smug.

"What?"

The man let out a little chuckle. "You've made quite a start in the news lately, Stark. You think I don't keep up with it?" He stepped closer, shoes clacking on the cold tile floor. "What's his name, again? _Peter Parker?"_

It felt wrong, hearing the kid's name come out of his mouth. Tony could feel himself getting angry, but fought to keep his face neutral as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "What about him?" He cursed at the slight edge to his voice.

"I just think it's interesting. Seeing you with this kid." He quirked a brow. "I don't need to be concerned about anything, do I? You know how people talk."

Tony narrowed his eyes at what the man was insinuating. "I know _plenty,"_ he growled before quickly taking a breath and steeling himself. He knew what Ross was trying to do. He was trying to rile him up, get under his skin. It wasn't going to work. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. So he bit down what he _wanted_ to say and simply shrugged his shoulders. "The kid's harmless. We're starting an internship program here. Haven't made it official yet; we're still in the trial period. I just looked through the top candidates and this kid was at the top."

Ross lifted his chin. "So the fact that he's Richard Parker's kid is-"

"Purely coincidental."

The Secretary smirked. "Nothing's ever coincidental with you, Stark."

Tony felt his fingers curling in his pockets. "Well...first time for everything," he chipped back, feeling his teeth gritting together. He whipped around on his heel, effectively hiding his face from the man's prying eyes. "Look, this meeting was scheduled to end-" he checked his watch- "ten minutes ago." He started on down the hallway once more, the sound of footsteps behind him alerting him to the fact that Ross was still following him.

"I have an early day tomorrow, SI paperwork to sort through and a lab to tend to. Whatever other concerns you have with the Accords, _and I'm sure I'll be hearing about a few_ ," he muttered under his breath, "we'll discuss it at the next committee meeting. It's in DC so you'll have the home field advantage, as I'm sure you're just chuffed about."

They walked in relative silence for a few moments after he finished, enough to have the billionaire thinking _maybe_ he'd finally gotten the man to take his hint and shut up while he tried to locate the closest elevator to shove him into. He'd been dealing with him for the past eight hours. He was just about ready to grab the closest bottle of alcohol, lock all the elevators from ascending to his private lounge and drink himself into next week. Fifteen or so bottles should do it, right?

"...So he's just an intern, huh?"

The question was so jarring and unexpected that Tony turned back around. "What?"

Ross stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Parker's kid. An intern?"

"Jesus...yeah. Did you forget to take your pills today, sir? You're about two minutes behind," he scoffed, hoping the dismissal and insulting comment would anger the man into lecturing him about responsibility or some shit. He didn't care. He just wanted him to get off the damn subject. Just the idea of Peter being on Ross' mind was enough to have Tony on edge.

The Secretary didn't seem ready to let it go, however. "Cause I've had my fair share of interns, Stark and uh...I never took any of them out to lunch before."

Tony turned back around and began walking once more. Where was the goddamn elevator when he needed it?! "I was in the city. We bumped into each other." The billionaire sucked in a frustrated breath as they finally reached the end of the hallway, which opened up into a large waiting area, complete with elevator and large floor-to-ceiling windows. He spared a glance and took note of the city shining underneath.

"Uh-huh... _sure_."

The condescending drip in Ross' voice had Tony stupidly turning away from the elevator so he could face the man instead, temper flaring. "Look, can we just drop this and move on? Just forget about the damn kid."

Ross didn't seem fazed by the man's anger, cocking a brow and quirking his lips instead, which only made Tony's irritation grow. "You seem uptight, Stark. Something else going on, here?"

The billionaire shut his eyes as he sucked in a shuddering breath, trying and failing to keep his anger at bay. He was already at the end of his rope with the Secretary and the douchebag just _had_ to keep pushing him? What was he gaining in all of this?!

"Look, Ross. Peter Parker is just some random kid. Why do you care so much?"

"Why do _you_ care so much?" He called, the slight mocking edge to his voice making Tony curl his hands into fists.

"I _don't_ care, alright?!" He snapped, voice raising as his eyes blazed. "He's just some _stupid_ kid that does some crap for me here and there. That's it! That's all he is. The only reason I even remember his _name_ is because of his dad." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if I'd known the kind of trouble this kid would end up bringing me, I wouldn't have even considered _talking_ to him, let alone actually letting him get near me."

He folded his arms over his chest, hoping to mask the shudder in his hand as he glared at the Secretary. "In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough issues to deal with without bringing some stupid brat into the mix." He narrowed his eyes and leveled the man a hard stare. "But the second this kid stops being useful, the _second_ I don't need him anymore, he's out, alright? Gone. You'd forget him like that," he muttered with a snap of his fingers. Ross watched him with a thoughtful look.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh, glaring down at the floor. "Trust me, there's _nothing_ special about that kid. Soon enough, he won't even be worth my _time_ anymore."

The words were sand in his mouth, dry and course and _awful_ but he had to say it, say _anything_ to get this douchebag off his case. After a moment of ringing silence, Ross huffed out a small humored laugh. "That sounds more like you, Stark. Was worried you'd gone soft there for a second," he scoffed as he began to make his way over towards the elevator of his own volition.

Tony watched him for a second, raising a hand to rub his shaking wrist before slowly trailing after hm. "Please, the last thing that'll get me to go soft is some annoying little brat. At least he confirmed for me that college-aged interns is the way to go."

"Pshh...I could have told you that."

As the two of them moved away from the window, they failed to notice the shadow that stretched along the floor, a long, dark form that lead back to the teenager perched against the outside of the building, not two feet away from the windows, within perfect earshot of the conversation even _without_ his super hearing.

For a moment, he just sat there, the billionaire's words ringing around in his ears; loud and piercing. They echoed around his head, bouncing back and forth from ear to ear, scratching away at his chest and curling so tightly around his heart he could _feel_ the blood dripping down into his stomach.

Peter didn't say anything. Didn't look back towards the window, towards the billionaire. Instead, he glanced down at the necklace in his hands, fingers trailing over the beads once more.

His shaking hand slowly curled into a fist, fingers wrapping tightly around the wire, old and frayed and ready to snap.


	21. All the Lonely People Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm just...I-I'm so...scared."
> 
> Tony got down onto his knees again, hoping the position would make him seem like less of a threat, but the boy's eyes continued to trail him like he was about to pounce. "I know. I know you must be scared, kid. But...but I can help you!"
> 
> Peter wildly shook his head, water droplets flinging everywhere. "No...n-no you don't understand!"
> 
> "Yes I do!"
> 
> "No you don't! I'm...I'm scared of YOU!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING*
> 
> This chapter contains brief allusions to suicide and self-harm

**Date: -**

**Location: -**

**Time: -**

The wind howled up here, pushing and wrapping around his body, moaning in his ears, crying and scratching against his skin, whipping the hair across his face.

A ripple of thunder rolled overhead. The clouds, which had been holding back the rain for the majority of the day, had finally relented their grip, allowing a small trickle of drops that had slowly grown into a steady downpour. Now, the drops - thick and black and heavy - splattered down against the rusted metal of the bridge which he sat atop, bouncing back up and pooling down the sides of the structure, falling into the black inky pool of splashing waves and roaring hum of the waters below.

Falling, falling, _falling_...

It stung, the sharp pricks of rain smacking the exposed skin of his face, the only skin that truly _was_ exposed. His mask lay beside him. He didn't have the stomach to try and put it back on.

Little needles... _poking_ , _prodding_...

His ears roared, each and every little sound tuned up to a hundred, amplified in his ears, ringing in his head. The cars down below sped past on the bridge, the bright headlights streaking past in glossy colors of bright white and yellow, like a watercolor painting dripping down a canvas, the colors bleeding into each other. The humming of the whizzing cars mixed with the rushing wind, cold and biting, stinging his eyes.

Cold... _cold..._

He was cold.

He was back in Ms. O'Hara's room. Back in the Terrarium. It was too cold. It wasn't just in his throat now, freezing his tongue to the roof of his mouth; it was everywhere. He could feel it underneath his skin, crawling around like bugs just underneath the surface, like _spiders_ , _creepy crawly,_ spreading and seeping into his muscles and curling around his bones, He could feel it on his face, each drop of water dripping down in frozen little pins that rung like tiny bells when they rolled off his face and fell into the puddles of water pooling around him.

_Plink, ting, plinkity..._

He could _feel_ his body changing. Icicles were forming on the tips of his hair. Frost coated his retinas. His skin was ice, his blood slush. Each exhale was a frosty blizzard that made his teeth chatter like glass, sharp and pointy.

Peter Parker was a nice little ice sculpture sitting atop the Brooklyn Bridge.

Pretty. Display only. _Don't Touch._

He glanced down at his hands, partly to make sure they were still there. _He couldn't feel them_.

The beads of the necklace clattered together, the wind carrying the tiny little noises and brushing them past his ears. It was dark up there. The few lights attached to the cables of the bridge did little in the downpour, the rain seeming to wash away the beams, wash them out, _wash the spider out._ He stared down at the necklace, watching the rain slide down the rounded beads and pool into his palm.

Would it sink in the water?

_Would he sink?_

He could feel the hard back of the chair in her office. He could feel the chains around his wrists, the jolts running through his muscles, seizing the breath from his lungs. It puffed around his mouth in a cloud of foggy white haze. He was breathing. He was breathing. No water. Just air.

_Breathe._

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but found it only bobbed up and down and stayed firmly locked. A harsh flash of bright white light illuminated the sky, slashing through the dark clouds and bathing him in a flash of jolting light and burning heat that crackled against his skin and made the rain glow in brilliant pearls of liquid silver. The roll of thunder that soon followed ripped through the air, shuddering the bridge and making his heart falter in its beat as the crackle blew past his ears and made him shut his eyes and curl his head away, as if he could somehow escape the booming screech.

Escape, run, _hide._

He took a shuddering breath, blowing out another puff that swirled before his eyes. His body shivering as the rain continued to fall, relentless and unwavering. He turned his gaze back down to his hands, back to the shining orbs curling around his fingers. He blinked the water out of his eyes and let his gaze travel past his curled hands and to the frothing river below.

Cold, cold, _so cold..._

Why was he so cold?

* * *

**Wednesday - April 27, 2016**

**Department of Damage Control Storage Center - DC Division A**

**11:51 p.m.**

The sound of leaves crunching underneath his boots mixed in with the rustling sounds of the forest as Steve pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree, steeling his breath as he raised a hand to his earpiece. "Everyone in position?" he whispered softly.

One by one, each of his teammates' voices filtered in through the coms, making him nod and shut his eyes in prep.

The jet had landed hours ago in the forest surrounding the Damage Control Facility, Shuri's stealth tech allowing them to go undetected as they'd laid low for the hours it took for the sun to finally set below the treeline. Sneaking into the facility after hours would be immensely easier than trying to break in while normal employees were still roaming. Now that it was nearly midnight and the night guard would be switching shifts, they had a window they couldn't miss.

Steve snuck a small glance up at the moon, which was partially covered by a few clouds but still noticeably bright, illuminating the moss-covered ground in bright white light. His face curled up slightly in displeasure at the sight, for he knew the added light wouldn't make their _covert_ operation any easier.

As if on cue, the clouds surrounding the moon parted further, allowing even _more_ light to shine around him. Steve threw a glare up at the moon's speckled face, which smirked in response.

He didn't have much time to dwell, however, as Sam's voice rang out over the coms.

_"Heads up, guys. Next shift's pulling in."_

Steve craned his neck to peer around the trees, watching as a dark van pulled up to the gates of the large facility. He could hear the mechanisms inside the gate whirling as they split apart to allow the car to enter, quickly sliding shut with a resounding _clang._

 _"Two minutes. Should be enough time for them to get to their stations and interact with the guards already on shift. That's our window."_ Natasha said over the transmission.

"Stand by," Steve murmured softly as he cast his eyes over the building. It was fairly large with around fifteen floors if the blueprints Hill had given them were anything to go by. On the front of the building was the Damage Control logo, large and hard to miss. Still, it could have been mistaken for any other government building if it wasn't for the security measures scattered around the entire strip of land.

The gates situated around the building were concrete, raising at least ten feet into the air, with an automated opening covered by thick steel bars that lowered into the floor with granted entry. Heat sensors and scanners were situated atop the gate itself, as well as the roof and the front entrance of the building. Tall satellite towers stretched upwards from the guarded roof, the bright red light blinking brightly in the darkness. And even the surrounding land, which was mostly nothing but bare grass leading into the forest they currently hid in was covered with heat sensors, motion trackers, and an electric fence surrounding the entire plot just as an added measure, waiting for any suspecting thieves to just _attempt_ to break in.

Steve could spot a tracker now, blinking dully in the tree branches just a little farther ahead. He and his team were on the perimeter, as close as they could possibly get without setting off the alarms.

He raised a hand to his ear once again. "Sam, you ready?"

" _On standby."_

"Wait for my signal."

Steve kept his eyes locked on the building, narrowing them ever so slightly as he began to adjust the straps on his twin shields. "Wanda, Clint. You guys good to go?"

_"I'm ready."_

"I'm _ready to get this over with."_

The soldier couldn't help but roll his eyes at the archer's pointed annoyance but chose not to comment as he took a small step back and stared through the trees. He was _just_ able to make out the shadowed form of Clint crouching atop the high branches of one of the taller oak trees farther into the distance, closer to the building itself. Down at the base of the tree, a small glimmer of glowing red light notified him of Wanda's presence.

Natasha's voice crackled again. _"Ten seconds, Steve."_

"Alright. Sam, Clint, on my mark."

The man glanced back over towards the sensors and sucked in another breath. " _Now_."

Clint reached behind him and pulled out a small projectile right as a flying drone shot through the trees, whizzing past Steve's head and flying right underneath the trackers. They blinked, lights switching from a steady red to a flashing yellow as the trackers switched their trajectories to follow the drone's path. At the same time, the archer pulled back the projectile and let it loose, an arrow that soared through the air in a clear-shot path straight up to the roof, where it hit the metal leg of the satellite branch and let loose a small electrical charge that sparked up small bits of blue light before falling dark once more.

" _Everyone GO!"_

With his own words still ringing in his throat, Steve began to sprint through the trees. He watched as Clint leapt down from his branch, only to be caught in a whirl of red light as Wanda began to levitate both him and herself up into the air. The girl turned towards Steve and watched as he approached, giving a small nod of her head before he too leapt up into the air.

The familiar tingling sensation of her energy wrapped tightly around his body, propelling him into the air as the girl began to shoot all three of them towards the roof, her eyes scrunched in concentration as she pushed them forward, the wind slamming against their faces as they flew. As soon as they were overtop the roof, her magic dissipated with a flourish of red light, Steve's boots landing heavily on the floor.

He glanced over towards Wanda as the girl blew out a heavy breath, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a questioning look, to which she waved him off with a reassuring little grin. He nodded and turned his attention towards the cameras mounted around the roof, gaze wary.

Clint seemed to notice his look and walked over to where his fired arrow was still sticking attached to the metal leg of the satellite. "Don't worry," he murmured, pulling the arrow away from the metal and sticking it back into his quiver. "Hill's scrambling code worked perfectly. Camera's are on a thirty second loop."

"And Redwing's keeping the motion trackers nice and preoccupied," Sam called as he soared overhead, Natasha tucked close to his hip. He quickly dropped her down next to Steve and retracted the wings into his back, engines dying down with a soft hiss. "Any motion they detect out there they'll probably just chalk up to an owl of something."

Steve nodded his head. "Make sure to call it back soon. Don't want the guards getting suspicious of _too much_ commotion down there."

As Sam stepped closer, Scott suddenly materialized from atop his shoulder, landing on the ground with a _thunk_ and an unceremonious stumble. He quickly righted himself and lifted the face-plate on his helmet, pouting slightly at the pointed looks he received. "What? It was a janky flight!"

" _Excuse me?_ "

"Focus up, people," Steve murmured, walking past the two and striding over towards the rooftop stairway, ignoring the pointed bickering he could still hear coming from the two men.

Clint and Natasha were already by the door, glancing up at the added cameras and scanners sitting above it. "That scrambler took down everything automated out here, but it's a different story in the actual building. Cameras are gonna be fully functioning down there."

Natasha fiddled with her wrists, lighting up the Spider Bytes and sending a small surge of blue light traveling down the etched patterns of her suit. "I can take care of them."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "The guards are going to start getting suspicious when the camera feeds start going out one by one."

"Then we'll have to work fast."

The super soldier gave a firm nod of his head and turned towards the rest of the team. "You all remember the plan?"

Sam and Wanda nodded back while Scott gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Good. You have your orders. Remember: _covert._ Get in. Get what we need and get out. Don't let _anybody_ see you. We meet back at the jet. Good luck."

"Aye-eye, Captain!" With that, Scott activated his suit and shrank once again, leaping towards the vent shafts and sliding right through the grates before disappearing into the darkness. Clint blew out a long sigh and rubbed his face, walking over towards the vents and ripping the covers off. "You just _had_ to leave me to babysit Scott, huh?"

Sam smirked at him. "Make sure to have him in bed by 8."

Clint gave a mocking laugh before flipping him the bird and sliding through the vent as well.

Steve pointed towards Sam. "Keep watch for any outgoing distress signals. If we need a quick escape, head back to the jet and start it up. Hopefully it won't come to that."

Wanda folded her arms. "Right, cause we're just so lucky with those sorts of things."

The soldier walked back over towards the door, poking the girl in the arm as he brushed past her. "Positive attitudes."

She rolled her eyes and shared an amused glance with Natasha, who just shook her head.

With Clint and Scott already on their way to the weapons vaults, Steve pulled open the door, the magnetic lock having been deactivated with the pulse scrambler. He shared one last look with the girls before beginning his descent, shields out and ready.

The stairwell was dimly lit, the dull white light shining against the cold metal of the steps and handrails. He could hear the footsteps of his teammates behind him as they walked down the spiral staircase, the soldier pulling up the holo-map projection of the building's blueprints Hill had managed to score for them. "According to this, the main server is located in the East Wing on sublevel-B2"

Natasha craned her neck to glance over his shoulder. "The sublevels are only accessible by elevator, which run automatically with specialized key-cards. You got a plan for that?"

"We'll deal with that when we get to it."

They had reached the door leading into the main building by this point, Steve pressing his back against the adjacent wall for a brief moment before slowly turning the handle and pushing open the heavy metal door.

It only took a second to deduce the hallway was empty and another to note the camera blinking in the far top corner of the hall. Steve glanced back at Natasha, who gave a firm nod of her head. She took a deep breath before quickly whirling out the door and into the hallway, whipping her arm up and firing a small Byte at the camera, which quickly fizzled out as soon as it made contact with the electrical charge.

Steve didn't waste any time as he ran past the woman and began to quickly make his way down the hallway, the others quickly following on his heels. He didn't spare much time to look around at his surroundings, but as they made their way down the halls, taking out cameras as they did so, he couldn't help but take note of a few details of the building.

The walls, ceiling and floor were all the same metallic gray color, shiny, pristine and cold. Every few hallways would contain floor to ceiling windows that allowed view of the entire outside facility, complete with courtyard and parking lot. He took note of the numerous side halls and stairs that would most likely lead them deeper in the maze of a building if it wasn't for the blueprints.

As they came up on another intersection of paths, Steve halted his stride and raised his arms, signaling the girls to stop as well.

"What is it?"

"Guards. Two of them."

He could hear their shoes scuffling against the floor, their voices echoing softly in his ears. Judging from the fact that Wanda and Natasha obviously couldn't hear them yet, the guards were still a considerable distance away.

The man hesitated for a moment before deciding they couldn't afford to wait. The longer they stalled, the more time the guards had to figure out what was going on with the cameras and send out more patrols to investigate.

He motioned for them to keep going, glancing back down at the holomap before choosing on a direction. It wasn't long after that they reached another hallway intersection and came upon the sublevel elevator. As Natasha had said before, there was no operating panel; no buttons to push, only a card scanner on the side wall.

Wanda turned to Steve. "Now what?"

The soldier craned his ears once more, pinpointing just how close the previous guards were _now_. They were getting closer. _Perfect._

"Now we wait."

Natasha furrowed her brows in confusion. "Steve...?"

The man didn't respond, only moved over towards the wall opposite the elevator, where the guards would be appearing from any second. The woman gave pause for a moment before she blinked in realization and slowly began to back up towards the wall also, grabbing Wanda's wrist and dragging her back as well. The younger girl gave a confused look, but paused as Natasha whispered something in her ear.

The girl glanced back at Steve, who gave a reassuring nod.

With that, the three waited, pressing themselves up against the wall facing the elevator, positioned in such a way that anybody coming down the hallway towards the elevator wouldn't be able to see them on account of the walls blocking their view. After another few moments, the guards were close enough now that even Wanda and Natasha could hear them.

"-plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing real interesting. You?"

"Barbara's heading upstate to visit her parents so I'm on babysitting detail. Not the best with a potty-training toddler."

"Still no luck with Jack?"

"What can I say. The kid _hates_ toilets. I don't blame him."

"Well, when I was having issues with Ashley, Nancy and I got this book. I thought it was a total waste of money, but like, four days later, the kid was singing songs on the frikkin toilet seat! I think I still have it if you want to-"

As soon as the guards stepped into the intersection of the two hallways, Steve pushed himself off the wall and rammed into the first guard's back, throwing him off balance and wrenching his arms behind his back before he could even blink. The other guard whipped her head around, instinctively reaching for her gun, only for Natasha to sweep her legs and for Wanda to curl her in wisps of red energy before she could even hit the ground.

Before the two guards could open their mouths or shout any sort of warning, more red tendrils were wrapping around their mouths, effectively silencing them. Their wide eyes followed the movements of the Rogues as Natasha began to run her hands down the female guard's uniform, pulling off the keycard clipped to her belt. Steve watched her, keeping his guard pressed up against the wall with minimal effort.

Widow quickly rushed over to the elevator and swiped the card, watching as a green light blinked on and the whirring of the elevator reached their ears. She glanced towards Steve and gave a nod. He turned to Wanda. "Just like we practiced."

The girl took a deep breath. "Right."

Slowly, more wisps of red energy began to seep from her hands, cautiously winding towards the guards. They tried to say something, but their words were muffled and unintelligible. The wisps wrapped around their heads, piercing their temples. Wanda shut her eyes as a look of concentration swept over her face, the guards' eyes quickly shifting to a deep crimson before they shut and their bodies fell limp.

The girl let go of the breath she'd been holding, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat at the maneuver. It was never something to be taken lightly, messing with people's heads. That much she knew now. The churning feeling in her stomach was alleviated slightly by the approving nod Steve gave her.

Steve gently lowered the guard in his arms down to the floor while Wanda did the same with hers, their gentle snores now emanating around the room. Natasha waved at them right as the elevator appeared.

The soldier pressed a hand to his ears. "Barton. Lang. We're heading down to the sublevels. Give me an update."

**. . . . .**

"So anyway, I'm thinking we keep the logo on the front and maybe have some dad jokes printed on the back. What do you think? Do you know how _awesome_ we'll look in matching shirts, man?! Although, it might be a bit of a challenge finding an underground shirt-making company that caters to wanted criminals. Maybe there's something online, like an Angie's List for Felons. You know, there was a sight I used called CozyHomes that got me a great quote for a window repair this one time. Maybe they have a black market sister sight or something. Anyway, what should we call ourselves since you're _so_ set against Dad's United. The Dad Pack? _Daditude_?"

"Status? I'm about five seconds from pulling out the RAID and gas bombing this little-"

" _Barton_ -"

Clint sighted and cut himself off before he could say anything more. "We're almost at the drop point," he muttered into the coms, cursing Steve for just about the fifth time in the past ten minutes for sticking him with their resident toddler as both he and Scott continued to crawl through the vents towards the weapons vault.

"Correction, Papa Bear. We're here." Scott called from over his shoulder, jamming a thumb down towards the floor below them, the sight of the vault visible through the vents. Clint paused in his movements both from the sight of the vault and from Scott's words, throwing the man a pointed look.

"What? You don't wanna be Papa Bear? _I'll_ be Papa Bear."

Swallowing whatever response he had to that, Clint raised a hand to the coms once more. "Rogers, we're here. Stand by. If these thugs really _are_ breaking into this place and taking their shit directly from the vault, we'll know soon enough."

With that, the archer kicked out the paneling and dropped down to the floor in a graceful crouch, only to yelp as he felt a crushing weight drop down right on top of him, flattening him to the floor. He groaned and lifted his head, coming nose to nose with Scott.

"...You're very squishy."

"Lang...I _really_ need you to get away from me right now, like...just for _your_ safety. "

"Right."

Quickly separating and placing a good few feet between him and Clint, Scott raised his head to take in the huge metal door standing before him. It was at least a good twenty feet tall, with bright yellow cautionary lines painted into the surrounding metallic frame.

"Jeez...what the heck are they holding in there? Dinosaurs?"

Clint reached into his quiver and began to adjust the coils on his bow. "Nope. These things are a bit more dangerous than dinosaurs."

"Yeah, how so?"

"Trust me. You don't wanna know."

He pulled out an arrow and began to slip it into the notch on his bow. "Alright, Lang. You see that control box up there? That's the automated control for the vault's security door. Now these things close up tight for the night and don't reopen until morning, even with the right access card so I'm gonna need you to get in there and work your shit."

Scott nodded and quickly shrunk down. Clint crouched down and dipped his arrow down to the floor, watching the tiny form of his teammate leap onto the tip. He straightened back up and took aim. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just...this is a normal arrow right, not one of those _'shooty, explosiony, send me all over the walls'_ type of arrow, right."

He sighed. "Just get the goddamn door open."

"Yes, Mama Bear."

Sucking in a deep, _deep_ breath, Clint steadied his arm and locked eyes with the control panel situated above the huge doors before loosing and letting both the arrow and his partner fly through the air. The arrow lodged into the concrete right next to the panel, leaving Lang with a good launching pad for the box.

Considering both how high up the box was and how tiny his teammate was, Clint couldn't tell what was happening as he shuffled from one foot to the other, casting continuous cautionary glances behind his back, expecting a horde of guards to come flooding in any second.

After another minute and a couple more wary glances, Clint raised a hand to his com. "How we doing, Scott?"

He received his answer in the form of a loud _groaning_ sound. The man whipped his head back towards the door, watching as the horizontal crease in the center began to grow, the two doors parting away, one sliding up into the ceiling and the other dropping down into the floor. Clint cracked a small smile, watching as Scott suddenly expanded into view in front of him. "I don't know. I think I'm doing pretty good. How 'bout you?"

The archer said nothing, striding past the man with an approving pat on the shoulder before the two of them were stepping into the vault.

"Holy _shit."_

 _"Ch'yeah._ No kidding."

The room was about the size of a football field with bright white walls and matching floors. Huge shipping containers lined said walls, one on top of another on top of another like a child's building blocks. On the back wall, a huge shelving unit reached from floor to ceiling, filled with boxes upon boxes of glowing purple weapons while giant cylindrical containers stretched from the front wall all the way to the back.

Scott continued to walk further into the room, twisting around on his heel as his head swiveled back and forth, eyes wide and mouth agape. "So...this is where they keep all that alien junk?"

Clint narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the vault. "No. This is just a fraction of it. Who knows how much of that shit is still out there...unaccounted for?" The archer paused as he caught sight of a large computer screen sitting next to the vault door, the Damage Control logo flashing across it every few seconds.

"Bingo." In a couple of strides he was at the computer, pulling out the keyboard that sat in the wall just underneath the screen itself. Scott pulled his head away from the sights as he watched Clint begin to type something up on the keyboard. He furrowed his brow and walked over. "What are you doing?"

Clint didn't look up from the screen. "This is the virtual database for the vault. Everything that comes in here or goes out is logged into this system. If there have been any containers taken from this particular vault-" he glanced back at Scott. "-we'll know soon enough."

Scott blinked at him before turning his eyes back to the screen. He watched as the Damage Control logo disappeared and a database list appeared instead. Clint scanned through the files before pulling up the weapons section and expanding the folder.

Suddenly, a holographic projection extended out from the screen itself, displaying the collection of organized weapons, cores and other assorted alien technology that had been gathered. Clint lifted his hands away from the keyboard and began to scroll through the hologram, eyes scanning for any missing boxes or out-of-place time stamps.

"Well? Anything?" Scott asked after a moment of watching the archer go through the file.

Clint furrowed his brow and pulled away from the screen, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown. "No. Nothing. Everything's accounted for here. Nothing's out of line. Not even a time stamp labeled wrong." He turned towards Scott. "However those gangs are getting this tech, it's not from the facility itself."

Scott shrugged. "Makes sense. What street thug is gonna be able to break into a government weapon's base, hack the cameras and pry those vault doors open without anybody noticing "

The archer didn't seem satisfied as he folded his arms. "So, question is: how _are_ they getting it?"

* * *

**Thursday - April 28, 2016**

**Stark Tower - First Floor Lobby**

**12:03 a.m.**

Tony didn't bother glancing around the lobby as he shambled towards the elevator, head down and eyes focused in the universal _'don't bother me'_ stance. He grimaced and lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, wondering how his neck could feel like he'd slept on it wrong if he hadn't slept in the past two days. Was it two days? Maybe it was three? Probably four, honestly.

He stumbled into the elevator, the doors of which closing automatically, before the floor lurched slightly and the compartment began to ascend back to the common floor. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain that washed over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths before the pain began to subside, if only for the moment.

Honestly, the urge to curl up on the floor right here and now was incredibly tempting. After spending the entire day arguing and fending off Ross' maulings, the billionaire felt he was owed a little down-time.

Tony thought of the bar, wondering how many drinks it would take for him to pass out tonight. Judging from how tired he already felt, he doubted it would take much. At least in his alcoholic states of unconsciousness, he couldn't dream. especially since any dreams tonight would probably involve some crack-pot interpretation of mountains of paperwork and some demonly figure that shares a suspicious resemblance to a certain Secretary of State.

Tony let out a low growl as he thought back to the Secretary, how hard it had been to finally get the son of a bitch to leave. After finally getting him off of the Office floors, he'd spent another _hour_ just getting the man to the lobby. Ross continued to _insist_ there was more they needed to discuss, to which Tony's reply would be that they'd have plenty of time at their next meeting, which he assumed was to take place in Hell.

As the billionaire thought back on the Secretary with less-than-pleasant thoughts, his mind couldn't help but drift back to what he'd finally had to say to get the man into the elevator, everything he'd said about Peter.

His stomach churned as he thought back over everything he said, everything Ross would have _expected_ him to say. It was disgusting, everything he'd said. What was even _more_ disgusting was the fact that once upon a time, Tony really would have _believed_ everything he'd said. Two months ago, if someone had told him that he'd be wrapped up in such a mess, worrying over some kid he stumbled upon in a home-made Halloween costume swinging around the city, he would have kicked them out of his goddamn tower.

For all intents and purposes, with everything he was currently dealing with, Ross, the Accords, the Rogues, the media, Peter was...Peter was a wild card he hadn't been expecting...nor prepared for. But unwanted? If Tony could really go back and choose, if he could decide to take Peter out of the equation altogether, leave _out_ the kid's problems and focus on fixing his own...would he do it?

He pushed the thoughts aside with another angry growl. He was _way_ too tired to be dealing with such intrusive thoughts right now. Best to leave it for another night when he wasn't five minutes away from a drinking game where the only players were himself and the nearest trashcan.

A tired sigh pushed its way through Tony's lips as the elevator doors slid open onto his common floor. Outside, the storm raged on, rain pounding against his window in thick heavy drops. He ran a hand down his face as he trudged across the floor, shoes scuffing against the cold surface before he finally reached the couch, where he promptly collapsed with a loud groan.

He rested the crook of his arm against his face as he rested the back of his head against the lip of the couch, content to sit in silence for _just_ a second.

_"Boss?"_

Okay, he didn't mean a _literal_ second.

He didn't remove his arm from his face as he spoke. "What is it, FRIDAY? Daddy doesn't want to play right now."

_"Boss, I've received an emergency alert from the Spider-Man suit."_

His eyes flew open and a strangled noise fell from his lips as he hastily sat up faster than he expected his body to move. "What? What are you talking about?"

_"His heart rate is elevated though there are no signs of any physical injuries to cause such a reaction nor any extreme cases of exertion. His body temperature is also extremely low, most likely from the outer temperatures and prolonged exposure to the current weather conditions."_

The man blinked up at the ceiling, trying to register what exactly the AI was saying. "Prolonged exp- Wait a minute. FRIDAY, when did you get the notification?"

_"Twenty-five minutes ago."_

He jolted up this feet and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. "What?! Why the _hell_ am I hearing about it _now?!"_

_"You gave me explicit instructions to not disturb your meeting with the Secretary for 'any reason'"_

The man gritted his teeth as he quickly rushed towards the stairs. "FRIDAY, new rule! Anything concerning Spider-Man gets top priority! You hear me? TOP!" He didn't bother listening to her response as he began to run towards the outer platform of the tower, pressing down on the sensor bracelets he kept on his wrists at all times. Tapping down on them, he heard the tell-tale whirring of the walls opening up.

As soon as he opened the door to the outer launch balcony, parts of the suit were shooting out of the wall, enclosing around his limbs and chest. The wind whipped across his face, Tony shutting his eyes against the force before his helmet closed down around his head. _Jesus. What the hell is the kid doing outside right now?_ He thought to himself as his propulsors burst to life, allowing him to hover in the air.

"Where is he, FRIDAY?"

" _His suit tracker indicates he's atop the Brooklyn Bridge and has been for the past half-hour."_

Instantly, a cold claw of dread seized Tony's heart, nearly making him fall back down to the balcony. He tried to swallow the lump that quickly formed in his throat, but found it was as solid as a rock. His stomach churned dangerously as the billionaire's mind began to fill with unwanted thoughts, explanations as to why the kid was atop one of the highest structures in the city in the middle of a thunderstorm obviously contemplating... _something_.

Tony literally shook the thought away. There was no way. Peter was...there was just _no way._ "Get me there, FRIDAY. **Now.** "

He shot forward like a rocket but it still felt like he was trying to run through water: slow and clumsy and _Not. Fast. Enough._

* * *

**Thursday - April 28, 2016**

**Department of Damage Control Storage Center - DC Division A**

**12:15 a.m.**

Steve pulled his hand away from the com and turned back towards the girls, who were both giving him expectant looks. "Barton says the vault's clean. Nothing shady. No missing cases."

"So...what does that mean?" Wanda asked.

Natasha glanced up at the sign overtop the door they all stood before. _Registry A-1_ "It means this better have the answers we're looking for...otherwise we're back to square one."

Eyeing the key pad next to the door, the woman swiped the card they'd stolen off the disabled guard, only for the light to remain red and an automated voice to sound. " _ **Unauthorized access. Insufficient clearance.** "_ She shared a look with Steve, who took a small step back before ramming his body forward, literally knocking the door off its hinges and sending it crashing to the floor, where it clattered with a loud _clang_.

Inside were rows upon rows of different monitors and screens, each displaying the Damage Control logo. On the back wall was a stretch of different servers, wires and circuitry that had Steve wishing for their resident tech genius for just fraction of a second before he was shoving the thought aside. He turned to Nat. "Hurry. We don't have much time before the guards start to investigate."

She nodded and made her way over to the closest computer. She reached into one of her belt compartments and pulled out a small silver flash drive, plugging it into the computer before typing away.

"Aright...let's see _exactly_ what's been going on here."

The light from the screens illuminated the dark room in swathes of white, their shadows extending into the walls. Steve kept his ears pricked for any distant sounds of footfalls, but heard nothing except for the soft tapping of Natasha's fingers as they flew across the keyboard. Her eyes were hard and focused as she scanned them across the screen.

After a few moments, he heard her click her tongue and press it into the side of her cheek.

"What do you got, Nat?"

She didn't respond at first, scrolling down the screen and reading through the registry. After another few seconds, she spoke but didn't take her eyes off the screen or stop typing. "Well...according to this, this particular facility has received 23 separate shipments of parts in the past two months alone, mainly coming in from Manhattan. Apparently, there's still a ton of alien tech that's yet to be collected."

Wanda cocked a brow, placing a hand on her hip. "Seriously? The attack on New York was four years ago and they _still_ haven't cleaned it all up yet?"

Nat gave a small shake of her head. "You weren't there, kid. You didn't see just what we were dealing with." She turned her head and shared a small look with Steve. He said nothing, just took a small breath and glanced away. She turned back to the screen and continued. "We're lucky there's still a city for this tech to hide in. Figures, there's gonna be a couple scraps that have fallen by the wayside."

"Which is exactly what this company was created for. To make sure that tech didn't fall into the wrong hands," Steve sighed.

Wanda pursed her lips. "Well apparently someone hasn't been reading the employee handbook."

The soldier folded his arms. "If these gangs aren't stealing tech from here, then they have to be getting it from somewhere. Question is, where else would they be able to gain access to it, _easy enough_ access to the point where they could obtain it without even stirring a fuss?"

Nat tilted her head and grew a smirk. "That's the million dollar question, Cap," she murmured, though her tone of voice had Steve straightening back up and leaning over her chair.

"You find something?"

"Maybe. So check this out." She clicked something on the keyboard, bringing up a page of listed material. "When a crew cleans up a certain area, they create an initial registry of what exactly their haul is, making a list of all the weapons, cores, etc. Well, check out the haul report from the 14th of this month." She clicked onto the file and brought up the registry. "This is the registry that was reported _at_ the haul site...and _this_ is what the facility reported actually came in to be stored."

Steve and Wanda gazed back and forth between the two projected registry lists, comparing each bulleted item before their faces grew perplexed. "I don't get it." Wanda murmured. "It looks the same. Everything matches up."

Natasha leaned back in the chair and gazed up at them. "Exactly...because _this_ isn't the actual file."

Steve furrowed his brow. "What?"

"It's a dummy file, entangled with the code for the _actual_ report to stand in place for the real file." She clicked off the registry and pulled up a new tab, this one displaying nothing but code lines. "This dummy file is what's actually listed as the true registry. it's been imbedded into the servers to take the place of any specially-marked files."

Steve leaned closer, pressing a palm down next to the keyboard and the other resting against the back of the chair. An uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach, but he ignored it in favor of staring at the screen. "Can you find the real file?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Whoever designed this hack created it well enough so that is easily passes as legit. Of course, they also created it with the idea that nobody would be looking at it too closely. Unfortunately, I think they planned a contingency just in case. The marked files are automatically deleted within a two month period."

She glanced over at Steve and cracked a devious grin. "Luckily for us, that registry is from the 14th, only two weeks ago so it hasn't been scrubbed yet."

She clicked around the screen for a few seconds, scanning through the lines of code, readjusting some lines and imputing a few scrawls of text before pulling up another file. "Here's the _real_ registry from the haul site, listing 142 individual pieces of alien tech. And _here's_ what's been logged into storage."

Wanda ducked her head closer to the screen, reading directly off the line. "Only 113."

"Same thing last month. Each delivery, there's a shortage of actual material being discharged."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "And since those dummy files were in place..."

"Nobody suspected a thing."

He lifted his hands from the table and straightened back up. "So somewhere between cleaning up the tech and dumping it here, these gangs are getting ahold of it. But how-"

"Hold your horses, Steve," Natasha chimed in. "I'm getting there." She typed a few more things into the computer. Steve and Wanda shared a look but stepped closer as a new image appeared, a digital map of the surrounding roads and commonly driven routes with markers for dump sites and past hauls. "Look at the routes each of these trucks take, the trucks that _don't_ have any discrepancies between their reported hauls and their actual loads." She pointed at the map and trailed along the illustrated road. "They each take the same route, every time. Now...look at the route _this_ truck took on the 14th. Route 95. Every other driver took Route 64."

Steve face scrunched slightly as everything began to piece itself together. "And let me guess, on the dummy files it lists the driver as taking the scheduled Route 64."

Natasha didn't say anything, just pointed a finger up at the man, signaling his correct suspicions.

Wanda turned away from the computer and looked at them. "So...the transport trucks are getting attacked on alternate routes they shouldn't have been on in the first place?" She glanced back down at the screen. "That can't be a coincidence."

Widow shook her head. "It's not. These records were tampered with, something that would require higher access to the mainframe and the digital copies of these transcripts."

Steve narrowed his eyes and glared down at the screen. "Someone's _letting_ this tech get stolen and is covering up the evidence by falsifying documents...someone on the _inside._ "

Wanda turned back to Natasha, who had gone back to scrolling through the files. "Can you figure out who?"

She shook her head. "No. These servers just log the information, more the technical aspect of the facility. They don't include any names, personal info, anything. If we want to find out more..." she turned her chair around and looked to Steve. "...we aren't going to get it here."

Steve said nothing as he pressed a hand to his mouth, giving a small silent nod at her words before glancing back down to the screen. Wanda blew out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "I think our problems just got a lot more complicated."

Suddenly, Steve stiffened as he turned towards the door, the distant sound of metal whirring reaching his ears. " _Shit._ No kidding."

Nat lifted her gaze, eyes suddenly sharp. "What is it?"

He strained his hearing, just able to make out the sound of voices and shuffling feet as the elevator whirled. "Guards. A lot of them." He moved towards the door. "We're out of time. They're descending the elevator now."

Natasha's face curled into something akin to annoyance as she whirled back around to the computer and began to type away, a loading screen popping up as the information began to download onto their flash drive. Wanda turned to Steve. "We're on the sublevels. No stairs. How the hell are we going to get past them without them seeing us?"

Steve paused at her question, swinging his head back towards the door, opening it and allowing the outside hall light to fill the otherwise dark room. He kept his hand on the door frame as he swiveled his head down the hallway, calculating just how far it was to the elevator from where they were, how much space there was between the walls and whether there was anything of importance to avoid damaging should there be a fight.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at the man, slowly rising up from her seat as she took in his stance and the tense coiling of his muscles. "Steve...no. We said covert."

He didn't turn around. "You have any other ideas?"

She squinted her eyes. "They don't know it's us yet. All they know is somebody's infiltrated the building and taken out a few guards. We confront them, they'll know it was us and we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands when news gets out the Rogue Avengers broke into a government building and beat up the guards."

"I _already_ broke into a government building and beat up the guards."

She scoffed and threw him a pointed look as he turned to face her. "That was different. The Raft was-"

"Necessary? Nat, are you honestly telling me this information isn't important? That we can afford to just... _forget_ about it?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Rogers."

He gritted his teeth and took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of them in a second. "A government-run operation dealing in secret underhanded affairs while simultaneously pulling the strings from the inside? What does that remind you of?"

She was silent for a moment, meeting Steve's heavy stare head on for a moment before glancing away. "We don't know that HYDRA's involved."

"We don't know they _aren't."_

She said nothing. Steve knew they didn't have time to argue. He could hear the voices getting louder as the elevator got closer to their floor. He whirled back around towards the door. "We'll talk about this later. Right now we need to go."

He stepped out of the room, Wanda glancing back at Natasha before following him out. The assassin watched for a moment before letting out a sigh, turning back to the computer screen.

**_DOWNLOAD COMPLETE_ **

_At least something's going according to plan._ She thought to herself as she pulled the flash drive out of the port, snapped it back into her belt compartment and shut the computers down, closing out of all the files and leaving no trace as to their tampering, aside of course from the door still sitting on the floor. She cursed Steve's impulsiveness but stepped over it and walked out into the hallway, where said man was already on the coms with the others.

"Clint, Scott. We're about to be intercepted. You two get back to the jet. Tell Sam to start it up."

 _"Hold_ _up_!" Scott's voice cut through. " _We're not just gonna leave you guys, are we?"_

Steve didn't relent. "We'll meet you back there in ten minutes."

" _But-"_

"Get to the jet. That's an order." Steve said in his commanding tone of voice that he only ever used when the situation demanded no further discussion.

There was no reply heard through the coms. With that, the man gestured with his head for the girls to follow him as the three of them began to make their way back to the elevator.

It only took a few seconds for them to wind their way through the halls and find the elevator once more. The doors hadn't opened yet, though Steve could hear the growing whirring of the mechanical gears shifting, bringing the guards closer and closer with each second.

He said nothing, pointing instead to the stretch of wall on either side of the elevator. Nat and Wanda nodded and just as before with the other guards, they pressed their backs into the same wall the elevator stood against, waiting on either side of it; Steve on one, the girls on the other.

They waited in a few terse seconds of silence as the whirring dragged to a crawl before stopping, the voices on the other side of the door ceasing as the sound of guns cocking reached Steve's ears and made his body tense.

For a second right before the doors opened, he made eye contact with his teammates, both of them giving him determined looks as Natasha charged up her Spider Bytes and Wanda let her hands fill up with bright red energy. He knew he didn't have to tell them to use restraint, that the people they'd be fighting weren't the bad guys, but he still felt a gnawing pit of unease grow in his stomach. The last thing they needed was another controversy, and the wrongful killing of a security guard doing their job would bring just that.

He quickly pushed the thought and the anxiety aside, however, as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. From their position against the wall, the Rogues went undetected for the brief moment they needed as all seven guards poured out of the small compartment, spreading out into the hall.

Instantly, Steve pushed off the wall, grabbing the gun of the nearest guard and ripping it out of his hands before slamming him down to the ground. The hall was suddenly swathed in noise as the other guards began to shout and aim their guns. Flashes of bright red light and crackling blue electricity alerted Steve to the fact that his teammates had jumped into action as well.

The guard underneath his hands began to squirm, Steve ramming his fist into his face and knocking him unconsciously instantly. His ears perked and he quickly leapt to the side as the sound of a gun going off bounced off the walls. He slid to his knees and jumped up, facing the two guards that now stood before him. They paused in their attacks, however, as they got a good look at his face.

"Captain America? W-what...what are-?"

They didn't get to finish as Steve surged forward, ramming his shoulder into one guard's gut and kicking out the leg of the second. The guard screamed in pain, only for Steve to grab his face and flip him over his shoulder, slamming him into the floor right as the first guard regained his balance and pulled out another pistol. Steve ducked under the shots and swept the man's legs out from underneath him. He reared a fist back, only to feel a heavy weight land atop his shoulders and drag him backwards.

He braced himself and slammed his body into the wall behind him, effectively squashing the guard atop as he grabbed the worker's arms and flipped him onto the floor, quickly knocking him out as well. He jumped back up to his feet, only to meet the muzzle of another pistol. The guard removed one hand from the gun to grab the radio on his shoulder. "We have a Code Black, in progress: hostiles are-" Before he could say anymore, the radio and gun were both encased in bright red light. The radio suddenly crumpled in on itself, leaving nothing but smoking wires and meshed metal.

The guard stared at it in shock, only for the gun to drop to the floor and the man to suddenly be catapulted backwards, slamming in the wall with a _bang_ before limply sliding to the floor.

Steve took a small breath and glanced over at Wanda, nodding his thanks as she smiled. Natasha brushed a strand of hair out of her face as she stared down at the guard that was currently writhing at her feet from the electrical current of her Byte before falling unconscious like his other comrades. Steve glanced around the hall, which was now laden with bullet holes and groaning security guards. He whipped his head towards the elevator, the doors of which were still open.

"Come on. We need to move. They're gonna send more."

With that, the three quickly piled into the compartment and shut the doors, the floor jolting underneath their feet as it began the ascent. Steve reached down for his wrists, activating the shields as he turned to Wanda. "We're gonna be intercepted as soon as we reach the top floor. Be ready for heavy fire."

She nodded and let more trails of red light enter her hands. Natasha shared a less-than-pleased look with Steve, who drew his face into a frown, but said nothing more. He could feel the elevator slowing. Steve took a deep breath and brought his hands up, shields out. Natasha recharged her Bytes, the bright blue glow trailing throughout her entire suit, and pulled out the tonfa sticks she kept in her back belt compartment, wielding them in front of her body as she narrowed her eyes.

The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.

" _Open FIRE!"_

Instantly, a cacophony of bullets hailed down around them, the noise deafening in the small metal confines of the elevator. Wanda's red shied leapt to life, encasing the opening to the elevator as the bullets bounced off of it. She grunted at the force but braced her knees and pushed her hands out further, strengthening the barrier between them.

Natasha reached back into her belt and pulled out a few black pellets. "Ready?!" She called over to Wanda, whose squinted eyes dragged over towards the assassin, her head giving a small nod as another surge of red energy pulsed through the shield.

Widow nodded and reared her arm back, letting the pellets fly through the barrier. They bounced along the floor and rolled over towards the guards' feet. Whirls of smoke suddenly exploded out from the devices, swathing the room in thick gray plumes.

The rainstorm of bullets ceased as the guards attempted to see through the haze, Wanda dropping the shield right as Steve surged forward. He grabbed the closest guard and hurled him across the room, where he promptly collided with another.

Wanda lifted one man, ripping the gun from his hands before tossing him towards Steve, who kicked him back against the wall. Natasha leapt over the downed man's body and wrapped her legs around another, coiling her body tight around his before whipping her body towards the ground, effectively dragging him down as well. She kicked her leg out, knocking his gun away before twisting and slamming her other foot into the side of his head.

She saw another guard running up, her arm lifting as she shot a Byte at his chest. He seized up instantly as the current pulsed through his body, sending him convulsing to the ground. Steve leapt over the shaking man and slid to a stop next to Nat, lifting one of his shields in front of her right as two bullets collided with the metal.

The woman pushed his shield down and fired another Byte at the approaching man, knocking him down as well. Steve extended his hand, the woman latching onto it right as he swung her through the air, her legs kicking out against the two nearest guards, who both went down at the hit, clutching their heads before she was firing another two rounds of Bytes.

Steve lifted his shields as more bullets fired towards him, Wanda's magic encasing the guns before crushing them in the guard's hands. They stared at the clattering pieces in shock, only for Rogers to leapt forward and grab the closest man, ramming his knee into his gut before hurling him at the second, the two of them clattering to the ground in a jumble of limbs.

The soldier ducked to the ground as another round of bullets soared overhead, crashing through the glass windows behind him and shattering them into fragments.

"Steve!" He glanced over at Natasha, who threw over one of her tonfa sticks. He grabbed it out of the air as he rushed forward, knocking it against the guard's gun and whipping it across his face before ramming his fist into the man's cheek and sending him sprawling to the floor right as another gun went off, a bullet whizzing right past Steve's cheek.

He winced before raising his shield once more, the bullets bounding off the vibranium metal. He didn't lower his shield as he repositioned his grip on the stick, whipping it through the air where it collided with the guard's head, who promptly collapsed at the blow.

Wanda raised up another barrier as a barrage of bullets fired her way. She used her other hand to conjure up another mass of energy, whipping it towards the floor where it exploded on contact, sending three more guards soaring through the air. Natasha slid underneath the airborne guards and rammed her own tonfa stick into the crook of one man's knee. He doubled over and she quickly rammed her knee into his jaw before whipping her stick against the side of his head.

She ducked underneath another round of bullets right as Steve rammed his shield into the guard's face and whipped his legs out from under him, Wanda catching the falling guard before sending him whizzing towards the back wall. The girl lifted her hands again, only for a stray bullet to hit her in the upper arm. She gasped in pain and faltered in her step, kneeling down on the floor for a brief second.

The guards, however, quickly noted her position and took aim. Steve rushed over and wrapped an arm around the girl, bringing his shields up right as they opened fire, the bullets clattering to the floor as they made contact with his shields. His eyes lifted as he felt a growing vibration running through the floor, heart dropping as he caught sight of a fresh wave of guards approaching.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and lifted her good arm, creating another shield, bigger this time. This one stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the three Rogues from the rest of security, which had quickly opened fire on the barrier as soon as it had appeared.

Natasha rushed over. "They're blocking the stairwell. How are we supposed to get to the roof?"

Steve stared out at the guards currently shooting. He knew in any other circumstance, such a situation wouldn't be a problem. They could easily overpower the guards, despite their numbers. But with the added handicap of fighting innocent people while holding back their real strength, the longer this fight went on, the higher the chance of some guard losing their life.

They had to end this quickly and get out of here.

The soldier opened his mouth, only to pause as he caught sight of a guard suddenly collapsing to the floor. The three Rogues blinked as another guard suddenly went down, as if punched by an invisible force. And another. And another. The guards themselves seemed to quickly catch wind that _something_ was happening, for they began to fire at random ground.

An arrow whizzed down from the rafters, lodging into the floor tiles. The guards lifted their heads in the direction the arrow came, only for a bright flash of light to explode out from the projectile, the guards clutching their heads as their ears rang.

Scott suddenly materialized from seemingly out of nowhere, ramming his fist into the nearest guard as Clint jumped down from the ceiling onto the shoulders of another guard, the worker crumpling under the man's weight.

Wanda quickly dropped the shield and fired two blasts of energy at the closest guards, knocking them off their feet as Steve and Natasha helped Clint and Scott finished off the last few.

Scott retracted his helmet, face all grins. "Hey guys!"

Steve blew out a sigh as he narrowed his eyes. "Scott..."

The man didn't seem fazed by the disapproving look in the soldier's eyes as he simply shrugged his shoulders and threw him his own cheeky look. "Sorry. Guess I'm not the best at following orders yet."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Clint muttered as he scanned his eyes over the guards, making sure they were all taken care of.

Steve thought of reprimanding their newest recruit for a moment before shaking his head and letting the barest smile onto his face, clapping Scott on the back instead. He perked up, however at the sound of approaching footfalls. "Come on. There's more coming."

With that, he ran over to the stairwell, the rest of his teammates following. He pushed the door open and sprinted up the metal stairs as the loud shouts of approaching guards began to grow. "Sam! You better have that jet in the air!" He shouted into the coms as they made the roof, the soldier holding the door open as the rest of his teammates poured through before slamming it shut. The cold air seemed to slap his face as the wind howled around them, threatening to knock them off the roof.

" _Relax, Cap. Your cab's waitin'."_

Before the man could respond, the loud sound of familiar jet propulsors reached his ears as the ship came into view, cresting the lip of building as the back hatch slowly opened up, revealing Sam standing at the mouth of the ship, arms folded.

"Somebody call for a taxi?!"

The Rogues quickly rushed over, Natasha extending her hand to Scott, who quickly shrunk down and slid into her open palm. The woman glanced down at the gap between the edge of the building and the ship ramp before taking a few steps back and leaping forward, feet slamming down onto the sleek metal as she slid inside.

Clint approached next, holding a hand back for Wanda, who was being pushed forward by Steve. The archer looped a hand around the girl's waist before they, too, were leaping onto the ship. Steve narrowed his eyes and took a few steps back himself. He could hear the shouting of the guards. They were in the stairwell now. He began to run towards the ship. The guards beached the door.

He leapt into the air right as the guns began to fire, his feet slamming onto the metal hatch before he was leaping inside. The hatch quickly sealed up, the bullets bouncing against the ship's side before the reflector panels began to rotate. Within seconds, the jet was gone, leaving nothing but the night sky for the guards to fire blindly into.

* * *

**Thursday - April 28, 2016**

**Brooklyn Bridge - East River**

**12:07 a.m** **.**

It felt like it took hours, but in reality, it was only a minute before Tony was hovering over the bridge, trying to locate a small red and blue smudge atop the bridge beams. He resisted the urge to scan the waters below for the kid's form, gritting his teeth as he had FRIDAY scan for the kid atop the actual bridge.

Tony would never admit the gut-wrenching feeling of relief when FRIDAY alerted him to the kid's presence atop one of the beams. Instead, he flew down, careful to keep his descent smooth as to not startle the kid. The relief he'd felt, however, quickly disappeared as he took in the sight of the kid before him.

Peter currently sat a bit too close to the edge for Tony's comfort, legs hanging off the side as he held something in his lap. His skin was nearly translucent at this point, the drops of rain sliding down his porcelain cheeks like that of a china doll. The pelting rain had plastered his hair down to his forehead, the dark brown locks a stark contrast to the sickening shade of his skin. His mask lay beside him, an afterthought.

He didn't look up, though the billionaire was sure his hearing would have picked up the sound of his repulsors. Instead he continued to stare down at something in his lap. Tony couldn't see what it was.

"Kid?"

The boy didn't respond. He didn't even move, didn't even lift his head. He just kept staring at his hands, at what was _in_ his hands. Tony hovered closer, boots landing with a soft thud on the metal tower. Another roll of thunder shook the air, the sky flashing for a brief moment before falling dark once more. He tried again. "Kid, what are you doing out here?"

Again, silence.

Tony blew out a tired sigh and opened his mouth to speak again, only to falter and remain silent as his mind drifted back over to when they had last seen each other, when they'd last spoken. The disaster that was Monday made a niggling seed of doubt sprout up in his mind. What that what this was about? Did Peter want him to bring it up? Did he want him to ignore it? Did he want to talk about it at _all_? Should Tony ignore it? _Could_ Tony ignore it and still call himself a responsible adult?

That last thought almost made him snort aloud. _Yeah, right. Like I was ever a responsible adult even **before** all this._

He turned his gaze back to Peter, who had still yet to acknowledge his presence. Tony felt the dragging weight of exhaustion eating away at his patience. What the hell was this kid playing at here?

"Peter, you better answer me right now. What do you think you're doing up h-"

"Have you ever heard of SpongeBob?"

The billionaire literally had to do a double take, both at the kid's sudden response and at what he'd actually said. He hesitated for a moment, glancing around bewilderedly before cautiously responding. "Uh...can't say that I have? What-"

"It's a cartoon. I think they still play it." The boy cracked a hint of a smile, didn't lift his head. "I used to watch it when I was little...with my mom. She liked it. Thought it was cute, I guess."

Something in the kid's voice made a shiver go up Tony's spine, a certain hollowness to the boy's usually bright tone. He didn't like it. "Kid...maybe we should talk about this back at the tower." He could see the teen's vitals through the headset of the suit, could see his body temperature. 96 degrees and dropping. Peter didn't seem too concerned by the cold as he continued, playing with whatever was in his hands. "It's about sea creatures, a sponge."

He rolled something between his fingers. "He's happy a lot. Singing songs, playing games, smiling. He smiled a lot. That much I remember. And...and I remember that...no matter what, how crazy the problem was or whatever insane situation he was in...he was always...smiling. Always happy."

The boy clenched his fists tightly. "I can't stand that show."

Tony took a step forward, the sound of his boot hitting metal echoing around them. "Peter...come on, kid. You're shivering. Let's go. I'll take you back to the tower, we'll dry off...just like that one time. You remember that?"

"...I remember."

"Then come on. It'll be fun." Tony reached a hand out towards the boy. Peter's eyes suddenly shot over towards him as he stepped closer and his body instantly curled in on itself as he faced him, scooting back ever so slightly. The billionaire was finally able to get a good view of the teen's face. The scars and scratches he'd seen on Monday had faded, leaving nothing but crystal skin that seemed to freeze the drops of water that dripped down his cheeks. But his eyes...his eyes were glossy and shone like the beads of a doll, filled with apprehension and fear.

Tony instantly stopped his approach at seeing the look on the kid's face, pulling back his hand and retreating a few steps. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, neither making another move. He could hear the sharp plinking noises of the rain hitting against his suit, the sky flashing overhead. Tony blew out a rough sigh as he realized what he needed to do.

"Jesus, can't believe..." he mumbled under his breath as the suit canopy began to open and he stepped out onto the bridge tower in the same three-piece suit he'd been wearing all day. Instantly, the shocking cold of the rain and wind seemed to pierce his skin as he lifted a hand to try and block the water from getting into his eyes. He could feel his clothes beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin as the rain pounded against him, slicking his hair back against his forehead.

Peter stared at him with wide eyes as the man adjusted to being so high up in the middle of a storm, bracing himself against the winds and gaining enough balance to properly stand. His wide doe eyes blinked in shock as the man clicked a tongue and ran a hand down his now-soaked suit, the billionaire pointing a finger at him. "I'm sending you my dry cleaning bill, you know."

"...you're getting wet..."

Tony narrowed his eyes, not out of anger but to try and blink away the water droplets now spilling down around his cheeks. "Yeah, cause apparently you'd rather have this little conversation up on top of a metal tower in the middle of a goddamn _thunderstorm_."

Peter didn't say anything at that, just blinked once more and turned his head away, glancing back down at the mystery object in his hands. Now that he was closer, Tony could make out the strung-together beads of a necklace, homemade if the quality was anything to go by. He hesitated for a moment before wiping his face and readjusting the raised hand that was currently failing at blocking the rain from reaching his eyes. "You gonna tell me what that is or would you rather combine this little charade with a round of 20 questions?"

The teen stole a hesitant glance in his direction, chewing the bottom of his lip before lowering his head again and averting his eyes, seeming to scoot back by another inch. Tony swallowed down another annoyed sigh, realizing he'd have to play this delicately, or at least, as delicately as he could running on less than 3 hours of sleep in a 48 hour period while having just dealt with political cronies for the last couple hours, shredding what last lines of patience he'd stored away.

Nevertheless, he'd have to find some...for Peter's sake. The last thing they needed was another blowup like Monday. As his mind drifted over said day, the billionaire winced inwardly as he realized he'd at least have to _try_ to address the elephant in the room. So with that, he cleared his throat and tried to muster up the calmest tone of voice possible, which was no easy task considering he'd practically ran it raw screaming at idiots all day.

"Look...about Monday, I...I'm sorry, alright? I overstepped. You were obviously uncomfortable and I kept pushing and it was just...I get you might not want to, you know-"

"It was for her."

Tony quickly slammed his mouth shut at hearing the boy speak. His voice was shaky...quiet, but he continued. "I made it for her...for her 30th." Peter cracked another small smile. "Four-year-old me thought it was a nice number, f-figured I would make something just as nice to...to celebrate it."

The billionaire felt a sinking feeling begin to weigh heavily in his gut as he picked up on the kid's distinct tone of voice. He wavered slightly before speaking, fearful as to what the kid's reply would be, though he already had a good guess. "Is...is it today? Her birthday?"

Peter turned his head to stare at him. He didn't say anything for a moment before a drop of water slid too close to his eye and he was blinking it away, chuckling softly. It wasn't very funny. "Heh...no. Quite the opposite, actually..."

It took him a second, but as soon as he knew what the teen meant, Tony was shutting his eyes and angling his head away as he sucked in a long breath, like he'd just been burned. A familiar tug of grief crawled down his spine, though he doubted it was anything compared to what the kid before him had to be feeling. Whenever the anniversary of his parent's death came up, he'd usually cope through it with a few bottles of whatever he had laying around so he could successfully black out the day completely in a nice calming booze-filled coma. Of course, the teen before him didn't have such an option readily available.

Nevertheless, this was not the time nor the place to have any sort of heart-to-heart about familial losses. Hell, that would be daunting even up in his cushy tower with mountains of pillows and hot chocolate. Throw in a couple mile-an-hour winds and some lighting and he had the makings of a real shitshow. He ran a hand through his hair, which was now completely drenched. "Listen...I'm sorry, kid. Really I am. But, please just...just come with me. We'll get out of this and get somewhere warm and...and we'll talk. We'll talk about whatever you want. I don't know how great I'll be at it, but at least it'll be something and we'll be out of this rain. You don't look so hot and it's just getting colder and-"

"I should have thrown it away."

Once again, he was caught off guard by the kid's sudden comment. The man glanced behind him at the light of his tower in the distance, grimacing again as he debated cutting Peter off and just dragging him back to the tower himself, but he quickly filed it away as a horrible idea given how much of a flight risk the teen seemed to be at the moment. Plus, this was the most they'd spoken in over three days. He didn't want to chance ruining it.

"What?"

Peter spared him another glance. He didn't know what propelled him to continue speaking, especially about _this._ Maybe it was the fact that the man was getting drenched in the freezing rain just to talk to him. Maybe the prospect of talking about this was just too good to pass up. He'd been holding it in for ten years after all.

_"It's ridiculous to still hold onto such debilitating things like this."_

Fine. She wanted him to let it go? Then he'd let it go.

"I kept it in a shoebox in my closet, to...keep it hidden, s-so she wouldn't find it before it was time to give it t-to her. And...a few months after...I-I found it again." He held it up just a bit, turning it over in his hands. "There was no point in keeping it cause, well..." He glanced over at Tony. "Can you really call it a keepsake if the person you're trying to remember never even wore it, n-never even _saw_ it?"

He stared back down at the beads, hand shaking slightly. "She...she didn't even know it existed." He paused for a moment, taking a small breath that seemed to burn his lungs. God, it was so freaking _cold_. "By all means, I should have trashed it," he mused with a small grin on his face. It made Tony uneasy.

"But...I didn't. I...I couldn't. Cause...c-cause four-year-old me, ever the _genius,_ thought that...t-that..." His words were shaking now. Tony realized his whole _body_ was shaking. He wanted to take another step forward, but realized it would probably scare the teen. He fought to keep his legs still as Peter tried to continue. "...that I'd keep it so...s-so I could..I-I could..." He swallowed thickly as his eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "so I could give it to her when she came back," he choked on a sob which quickly turned into a breathy laugh as a few stray tears slipped down his cheeks, mingling with the raindrops.

Tony didn't move. He didn't know what to say. What _could_ you say to that?

Peter stared down at the beads, silent for a moment as he traced over them with his fingers. Lightning flashed overhead, making the necklace glow slightly as the glass reflected the brilliant burst. The teen's eyes darkened slightly, causing Tony's stomach to turn as he watched the boy's body stiffen in visible anger. He barked out another laugh as more tears leaked through. "Well guess what? I've been waiting for ten **_fucking_** years and she **_still isn't here!_** "

With that, the teen leapt up to his feet faster than Tony could blink and hurled the necklace down as hard as he could into the darkness below with an animalistic snarl. The billionaire took a startled step forward, wondering for a brief horrifying moment if he was close enough to grab the boy in case he tried to make a move towards the edge.

"Peter-!"

However, instead of making anymore sudden movements, Peter just stood there. His shoulders bounced as he let out a choked cry before ramming the palms of his hands against his eyes and falling to his knees on the metal tower, the puddles on the surface splashing down around him as he fell. Tony could do nothing but listen to the heartbreaking sobs of the boy before him, suddenly overcome with the urge to embrace the shivering kid.

But realizing such a thing wouldn't help the teen who obviously had a _deep_ aversion to physical contact, the billionaire did the next best thing and knelt down on the ground beside him, not saying anything as Peter hiccupped and dragged in a shaky breath, pulling his arms down to wrap around his body.

Peter didn't know what to do anymore. All of the stress and trauma and shit of the past two weeks... _fuck it_ , of the past _ten years_ were suddenly creeping up around him, threatening to choke the literal life out of him. He didn't know what he wanted anymore, so he just decided to let it all out.

"I just...I-I miss my mom," he finally whispered, his heart clenching so tightly he fought to breathe. "I miss her. And...I don't even _remember_ her." He tightened his grip on his arms, so much so he was certain it would bruise. "Her face, her voice, it's all...it's all getting fuzzy, it's fading away and I can't stop it. I...I can't I can't control my own memories, can't stop them from disappearing. She's... _she's_ disappearing. I just..."

He lifted his eyes to stare at the billionaire kneeling a few feet away. "I miss my mom, Mr. Stark." More tears fell down his face. "I miss her so much."

" _You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"_

He ducked his head away as Ms. O'Hara's words echoed around his ears, ready to listen to the billionaire rip into him just as she had, telling him that it was stupid to still grieve over someone that had died so long ago, ready for him to say how ridiculous he was being.

"I know."

The teen blinked and turned towards Mr. Stark, who had shut his eyes and was running a hand down his face, wiping away the water droplets that had collected. The billionaire turned to look him in the eyes, seeming to convey an overwhelming sense of understanding and sympathy that made Peter's teeth clatter. "Peter, believe me, I _know_ how horrible you feel right now," the man sighed. "How awful it is to start forgetting the people you loved. I know it's hard and it sucks."

He paused for a moment before lifting his hands in the air and dropping them back down to splash against the puddles pooling around his knees. "I'm not gonna lie, kid. It sucks. It sucks and it's gonna keep sucking for a while. And I know I'm not really the best at promoting healthy ways of coping but...it gets better."

The man smiled at him, a gentle smile that made Peter's fingers curl and his heartrate speed up. "I know that sounds like a passive little platitude that you could find on the back of a 2-cent therapy pamphlet, but it does. It takes time...like, like a _lot_ of time. But eventually you find a way to cope, hopefully a better way than me, _heh._ I know I could help you s-"

" _Stop."_

Tony paused, blinking at the suddenness and the hostility seeming to linger on that single word.

"Wh...stop what?"

Peter clenched his eyes shut and curled his fingers into tight fists. "Stop doing that. Stop being... _like that!_ Stop being so nice!" He shouted with an anger Tony hadn't seen in him in a long time, not since the first month they'd met and he'd confronted him about Richard.

"I don't-I...what-"

"I don't understand!" the kid screamed, grabbing at his head. "I don't understand **_you!_** I can't... _God."_ His eyes burst open, wide and unfocused as his breathing picked up tenfold, chest heaving in and out like each breath was a struggle. Tony stared at him in shock as the teen clutched at his chest, fisting the material of the suit with such a tight grip, Tony wasn't too such the multi-billion dollar material wouldn't shred like wet toilet paper. "I...I can't take this anymore...I can't!"

The boy began to sway from his kneeling position, so much so that the billionaire instinctively reached out, fingers just grazing his shoulder. "Peter, just wait-"

" **NO!** " he shouted, literally jumping away from him as he began to scoot backwards with his hands, terrified eyes staring at Tony as if he were trying to kill him. "Please! Please don't, _please_ just...please don't do this." He raised a shaking hand towards the man. "D-don't do this to me again. P-Please...please don't. _God..._ I can't do this." He could barely choke out the words at his point. "I'm just...I-I'm so... _scared."_

Tony got down onto his knees again, hoping the position would make him seem like less of a threat, but the boy's eyes continued to trail him like he was about to pounce. "I know. I know you must be scared, kid. But...but I can help you!"

Peter wildly shook his head, water droplets flinging everywhere. "No...n-no you don't understand!"

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't! I'm...I'm scared of **_YOU!_** "

Tony felt the air literally leave his lungs at the teen's words, like he'd just been punched in the gut. He blinked for a few moments, trying and failing to come up with some sort of response. But all he could stutter out was, "You... _what?"_

Peter opened his mouth again, only to stop and quickly snap it shut. He had to leave. This was all spiraling out of control... _AGAIN!_ He had to get out of there before he made things even worse. "No...I...I can't do this." He jumped up to his feet. Tony did as well, eyes widening as he realized the kid was about to leave.

"Peter-"

"I can't, Mr. Stark. I won't do this again. I _can't_." He grabbed his mask faster than the billionaire could stop him, aiming to place it back over his head. "Please...p-please, just...just stay away and I'll-"

Tony suddenly felt all the fear and anger that had been bottling up for the past two months spill over, quickly engulfing him as he watched the teen prepare to take off and leave him in the dark... ** _AGAIN!_**

"Peter, _goddamn it!_ " He screamed, catching the kid off guard as he stepped forward. "Don't you _dare_ leave again! You wouldn't tell me anything before well you're not gonna do it again! You owe me now! I'm standing out here in the middle of the night getting soaked for _you!_ I'm not here for shits and giggles, alright? I'm here to help _you!_ " The man took a breath, seeming to snap himself out of the sudden onset of anger as he noticed the teen's frightened face. He took another step forward, to which Peter took two back. Tony quickly stopped, realizing there was a very high chance that he could scare the kid away. He sucked in another breath and held out a steadying hand. "Please...please stay. Stay and talk to me. Please..."

He didn't know what he was gonna do if the boy refused. Peter didn't seem to know either, for he simply stood there staring for a good few moments, allowing the sound of the pounding rain and rolling thunder to take center stage instead. His brain screamed at him to run, to get as far away from the man as possible. But his legs wouldn't move. He couldn't take his eyes off of Mr. Stark's pleading look. He lowered the mask and stared at it in his hands, the rain drops sliding down the smooth lenses. He ran a thumb over it, wiping it clean for a brief second before more drops replaced the old.

Peter shut his eyes and gripped the mask tightly, bringing it up to his chest and hugging it close. Tony watched him, silent. He didn't know what to do. The kid hadn't run off yet so he at least considered that a small victory.

After another few silent seconds, Peter spoke.

"I don't... _understand_ you."

Tony remained quiet. He had to let the kid speak.

He had to know why Peter was the way he was.

The boy glared down at the mask. "Nothing you do makes sense!" he growled. "I know how the world is supposed to work, alright? I know down to the _letter_ what I have to do to get people to look away, to ignore me and keep going on about their day as if I don't even _exist_." The kid gripped the mask tighter, wringing it in his hands.

"I keep my head down, the crowds ignore me. I keep my mouth shut, my classmates pass me by. I do my work, the teachers leave me alone. I have worked for _years_ to protect myself, to keep people's prying eyes at bay, their questions to a minimum. And it's _worked!"_

Peter paused to take a small breath. The small bout of color that had worked its way into his cheeks began to fade as the kid lowered his head. "I lie," he murmured in a soft and shame-filled tone. "I...I lie. I tell stories, make up excuses, pull things straight out of the thin air! They're pretty and they're clean and they don't make people ask questions." His face grew angry. "They make people happy and comfortable enough to smile and look the other way, to think that it just doesn't concern them and move on with their lives."

He lifted his eyes to stare at Tony, gaze questioning and uncertain. "So...so why don't you? I've been doing this for ten years. It's worked on almost everyone else in my life so...so why won't it work on you?"

The man inched closer. "Cause I don't _want_ it to work, kid. I _want_ you to tell me the truth, Peter...even if it's...even if it's hard to swallow," he murmured softly.

Peter hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. "You won't like it."

"Probably. But I'd want you to tell me anyway." Another step closer. Peter didn't move away this time. "I don't want you to have to lie anymore. Not to me. I...I want you to-"

"What? Trust you?" Peter asked with venom in his tone, eyes hard and pained. "Tony Stark? The man they say is only ever out for himself? Only in it for the money? Why would I _ever_ trust you?!"

Tony stared at him for a moment, hoping the hurt that flared at the kid's words didn't show on his face. Instead, he just stared at him, raindrops sliding down his forehead, down around his chin. "Is that what you think? About me?" he asked softly.

Peter stared at him, the look on his face wavering before falling altogether, the teen wrapping his arms around himself once more as he turned away with a tired sigh. "No...but it never matters what I think." The boy stared out at the river of cars speeding down below them, bright colors blurring into one another as they flew down the strip. He shut his eyes and shook his head. "God, why...why are you even here?"

The billionaire faltered slightly at the pointed look the kid threw his way, not having expected the sharp and calculating look in his eyes. "I...I was worried about you?" he answered honestly.

But despite the integrity of his words, Peter's suspicious look remained. If anything, it deepened as he frowned and furrowed his brow. "Were you? Worried about me? Or did you just need another distraction?"

Tony's stomach churned. "What?"

"That's what you said, right? That's what this is? Is that all I'm here for? That's my _'use?'_ " The kid scoffed and let a humorless smile fall onto his face. "Well how long until you get tired of this? I mean, come on!" He gestured with his arms for the man to look around. "You're standing on top of the Brooklyn Bridge during a thunderstorm in the middle of the night! I'd say my _'usefulness'_ has run its course." He stopped, glaring down at the ground for a moment before the intensity died down, leaving nothing but anguish. "Like you said, the second you don't need me anymore...I'm out."

The man's heart sunk as he heard the words, words he'd uttered not even an hour ago. This was _bad._ "I-"

"There's nothing special about me, anyway."

Tony quickly rushed forward, heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest. How was this all going so wrong so _fast?!_ "Oh, god. I...Peter, kid...listen to me, I-"

"I always listen to you, Mr. Stark," the kid murmured, glancing up at him with his big brown eyes that made Tony want to curl away from the sincerity behind them. "That's the problem."

Peter didn't say anything else as he crouched down and sat on the floor once more, body seeming too tired to keep standing. Tony could only watch with hopelessness creeping ever present towards his throat, not sure what he could do at this point.

God, it was _cold_. He could feel it slicing against his skin, slipping in underneath his shirt and making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop his teeth from chattering.

He could try to deny it, say the kid had misheard or that it as all just some big misunderstanding, but he knew Peter would never believe that. He was too smart to be deceived by any sort of lie he could conceive. So with that, Tony decided to take on a new _fuck it_ mentality as he walked over to the boy and sat down right next to him, his legs hanging off the side of the tower. Might as well take his chances with the truth.

"I didn't mean those things I said," he murmured softly, not even bothering to turn his head towards the kid as he spoke. He didn't want to see the disbelief on Peter's face. "They were just to get Ross off my back. You know him? Secretary Ross? Yeah, well he's my boss and an asshole and I didn't want him knowing any more about you than he already did." He glanced down at his hands, watching his fingers flex as he curled them. "I was trying to protect you."

Peter stared out over the water, the wind blowing the wet strands of his hair against his forehead. "I believe you," he breathed softly. "But it doesn't make it any less true."

Tony turned at that. "Kid-"

"It's okay." Peter lifted a placating hand. "It's...it's alright. I'm not angry." He turned to Tony with a small genuine smile, though it didn't make the man feel any better. "How can I be? How can I be angry when you're only doing what's best for you? And you _should_! I...I understand."

"It's not like that, kid..."

Peter sighed. "Mr. Stark, look around you. Look at where you are right now! Can you honestly say any of this is good for you? That this is something you _want_ to be doing? That if given the choice, you wouldn't rather be back at home with no memory of any of this, warm and dry and...away from...this big mess." Peter turned away, staring down at the mask in his hands once more, eyes filling with an unreadable expression Tony couldn't place. "I...I'm doing this to you," the kid murmured in a pained voice. "I'm making things harder for you."

Tony shook his head. "N-no you aren't."

"Come ON!" Peter snapped, glaring over at him. "You're saying you haven't been stressed out even more lately ever since we met? I've felt it too!" He turned his gaze to the sky, shaking his head with a scoff. "These past two months have been some of the _worst_ of my **_entire life!_** "

Tony winced at that, gut flipping in guilt as he turned his head away and shut his eyes. The doubts he'd been feeling all week, all month began to crawl up his throat.

"But...but they've also been some of the best."

The billionaire blinked and faced him again. Peter smiled down at his hands before letting out a sigh. "Maybe that's why I thought this could work."

The man furrowed his brow, inching closer. "It could. It _could_ work, Peter."

The teen only shook his head. "I can't, Mr. Stark. This...all of this...it's just one big risk. _You're_ a risk. You've changed _everything!_ All of it, you've changed me, changed my life, changed how I see things and it's all too much! It's all so new and I can't process it!" he shouted grabbing at his hair as his breathing picked up once more and his heart pounded in his ears. Tony reached a hand out to place on the kid's shoulder before thinking better of it and retracting it back.

"You're...you're a wild card. I have no idea what to expect from you! How do I know you aren't planning to go to the police right this second? _I_ can't stop you! Not if you really wanted to!"

Tony felt his eyes narrowing. "What's so wrong with that? The police could help you."

The scoff that fell from Peter's lips was so forceful that the man reared back slightly. The kid smirked a humorless smile. "...help me with what?"

"I'm being serious, Peter."

"So am I," the teen countered with a sharp look. "Help me with what? With my dad, Richard Parker? The city's golden boy, the guy who had the Mayor and the Chief of Police over for dinner three weeks ago? The guy who's in every paper, article, news story getting remark after remark of nothing but praise and adoration?!" The kid shook his head and let his hands fall limply into his lap. "Nobody would believe me."

Tony stared at him before pushing through his hesitations and grabbing onto the kid's shoulder. Peter winced, but didn't pull away and didn't turn to face him. "I would. If you told me." Tony murmured soberly, hoping his tone of voice would convey his seriousness, would help convince the kid. Peter's next words surprised him however as the boy reached up and gently pushed the man's hand off of his shoulder with a small smile.

"I know. That's why I can't. Cause I know you would. Which would mean you'd do everything in your power to fight it. And...and I can't let you do that." The smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come, suddenly replaced with regret as Peter seemed to quickly realize where they were...who he was with. The short reprise of calm washed away as the teen stood back up to his feet, Tony quickly following.

"Oh, this is all so messed up..." the teen moaned, pressing his hands into his eyes once more. "All of this! _YOU_ are messing everything up!" he shouted, suddenly angry once again. His emotions were all _over_ the place! "My dad tells me one thing. You tell me another. I try to keep my mouth shut but you _somehow_ get me to spew out everything I'm thinking as soon as I think it! I distance myself and you _drag_ me right back and make me feel... _something_ and get me to let my guard down!" His hands flew down, trembling fists standing at his sides as he burned daggers into Tony, face flushing red. "Why are you doing this?! Why do you care about me so much? _God,_ why can't you just **_GIVE UP?!_** "

Tony gritted his teeth and rushed forward, forcefully grabbing the kid by the shoulders. "You don't want that! I know you don't!"

Peter shook his head, tears forming in his eyes once more, which only made Tony feel worse. He didn't let go however. He just kept holding on tight to the boy, afraid that if he let go, the teen would crumble right then and there, washing away with the rain.

"I...I need you to," Peter cried softly. "It's...it's the only...it's the only way I know how to function. I _need_ you to not care...I've never had anything else. I don't know how to _deal_ with anything else. I..." he raised his hands and grabbed onto Tony's wrists, staring the man in the eyes as the tears slipped down his face. "I'm scared, Mr. Stark. This...this is all so new. It's too much."

He let go of the man and slipped out of his grasp, sidestepping him and coming up behind him. Tony whirled around, keeping his eyes locked on the teen as he began to pace around the roof of the bridge tower. "I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. I don't know what's gonna happen whenever I see you and that... _terrifies_ me. With you, there are so many variables that I can't account for that I can't even _begin_ to fathom what the solution might be! There is no equation. There's no way to solve it."

Peter's shaking hands went up to his face again. "I don't know what do to anymore. This...this is all such a bad idea. You and me, we're _such_ a bad idea!"

Tony tried to approach the kid again, but Peter quickly stepped back. "It doesn't _have_ to be. We can work through this together, kid!"

The boy stared at him for a moment, seeming to drink in his words before he was glancing back up at the sky, blinking away the raindrops that fell onto his face. "I don't understand." His voice was soft, his tone almost neutral. "Why? Why are you doing this, Mr. Stark? What do you have to gain in all of this other than more problems that you don't need." The teen folded his arms together. "You were wrong before...all those months back. Spiderman might be your responsibility...but Peter Parker sure isn't."

He stared down at his mask, fisting it tightly. "We aren't the same. Me and Spider-Man. _You_ deserve Spider-Man. He's brave and strong and knows how to stand up for what's right." His eyes locked onto the lenses of the mask, so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection staring back up at him, disappointing, underwhelming...unimportant.

"Peter Parker...is nothing."

Tony narrowed his eyes in anger. "That's not true. Peter, you _know_ that's not true!"

"They _**WHY?!**_ " He screamed. "Why are you doing this? W-what am I to you? An intern? A-a...superhero coworker? Your rival's kid? An entertainer to distract you for a couple hours out of the day? What?! What...what am I to you?" he whispered, voice trailing off as he dropped his hands and stared at the man, any and all energy he'd had now draining away from him, pooling around his feet like the puddles of water. A roll of thunder echoed overhead, seeming to make the very bridge vibrate. Neither of them reacted to it, they just kept staring, kept trying to make their brains work and their mouths move, to say something... _anything_ that could fix all of this, that could put together what was so obviously broken.

Finally, Tony spoke.

"I...I don't know..."

. . .

. . .

"Neither do I."

The silence that followed wrapped around them both in a suffocating blanket, restricting their limbs and cutting off their air. The cold seemed to seep through their skin and freeze their blood solid, leaving them petrified as stone. Peter breathed out, slowly...calculating, as if he were measuring how long each exhale was, timing the seconds.

He spoke, the words empty and heavy. "I...I don't know if I can do this anymore. I...I'm just...so _tired._ Of the lies, the games...all of it."

The kid took a step backwards, glancing down at his mask. Tony seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd been in as he watched the teen prepare to leave. He _couldn't_ leave. Not now, not...not after all of this. He couldn't have _failed_ , not so badly! "Peter...please, please just..." He didn't even know what he was pleading for at this point. He just needed this kid to stay. He _needed_ it. It was Monday all over again, he could _see_ the park materializing around him, could see the kid drifting further and further away, too far to reach, too far to _help._

Peter watched him, his tone never changing, his eyes hollow. "I have to think. I...I have to go."

"Kid-"

He held their stare for a second longer before slipping the mask over his face. "Don't follow me."

And with that, he leapt off the side of the bridge tower. Tony quickly rushed over to the edge to watch the kid fire a web and swing off into the night, his body highlighted by a flash of light overhead before disappearing into the darkness.

The man stood there silently, staring out into the rain. He blinked and glanced down at his hands, feeling the water slide down his fingers and pool into his palms. He noted ever cut, every scar, every hint of callouses from years of working, of tinkering in his lab in the quiet, _empty_ metal walls of his workshops.

He'd gotten what he'd wanted. They'd _both_ gotten what they'd wanted. They'd seen each other, spoken to each other, spoken to the only other person who could _maybe_ understand.

And yet, as the thunder rolled on and the lightning streaked by and the rain poured down, as Tony Stark stood atop the Brooklyn Bridge and Peter Parker swung through the city buildings back home, neither of them had ever felt so completely and utterly... _alone._

_"I don't know if I can do this anymore..."_

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Me neither."


	22. All the Lonely People Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other as if neither of them truly believed the other was there at all. An illusion, gone in a puff of smoke.
> 
> Finally,
> 
> "I need to talk to you."
> 
> Peter's voice was soft but it seemed to echo off of the walls, bouncing all around Tony's head.
> 
> He thrummed his fingers against the bottle. "Didn't we say everything we needed to last night?"
> 
> "No."

**Thursday - April 28, 2016**

**New York City - Unknown Location**

**02:13 a.m.**

The ship hovered idly in the air for a moment before slowly dropping down to the wet, puddle-filled ground. The back hatch quickly opened up, exposing the Rogues to the chilly night air and the frigid rain that fell around them. They quickly made their way into the warehouse, Steve hovering by the main doorway as he stared out at the ship. He glanced down at the small remote in his hands that Shuri had instructed came with the ship. He clicked a small button on the side, watching as the wings of the jet began to fold in on themselves before retracting into the body, the ship now resembling the size of a car rather than a Quinjet. The paneling on the outside shimmered before the reflectors flipped on, the ship remaining visible for a second longer before disappearing in the dark.

Steve stared in disbelief for a moment before giving a small shake of his head. He missed the days when the most technologically advanced thing he'd ever seen was a metal frisbee that occasionally ignored the laws of physics.

Still, he breezed past the thought and stepped into the warehouse, now aware of the argument building among the others.

"Clint, I said I'm _fine!_ It's just a scratch. It's nothing."

The archer stared Wanda down with an unimpressed look, the girl throwing him an annoyed one in response. "Scratches aren't nothing, especially considering this _isn't_ a scratch. Please, just...go with Scott and let him redress your arm."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "No. I want to stay and talk about this," she insisted, obviously referring to the debrief they were scheduled to have now.

Sam, Scott and Natasha were storing away their gear as the argument ensued, but quickly turned towards the commotion as it only brewed louder. Scott stepped closer and placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder, knowing he was at least semi-involved. He smiled. 'It's fine. We can just-"

Wanda shrugged his hand off and turned her heated look on him. "It's _not_ fine. They're trying to get rid of us!"

Natasha walked over to Clint. "It's not like that, Wanda."

"How so? What, just because we're the latest to join the team means we won't understand? I'm not _stupid!"_ she seethed.

Steve decided that was a good time to make himself known, coming up behind the girl and placing two calming hands on her shoulders. "Nobody's calling you stupid."

She whirled around to stare at him, the irises of her eyes gleaming with a bright red tint. "Well, obviously you don't trust me enough to let me listen in, to let me be a part of the discussion."

Steve tried to bite back a sigh. Wanda had been growing more...agitated as the months dragged on, expressing her displeasure at their situation, insecurity at her place on the team and even of her own powers at times.

Before the issue of the Accords had dropped a bomb on them, Steve had been attempting to coach her, both in terms of her powers and as a member of the team. She _was_ the youngest and the most inexperienced. Plus all of her training had been at the hands of a known Nazi organization, so the credibility of such was slightly lacking.

But now it seemed more and more that the girl was questioning her placement on the team and the trust her teammates placed in her. Steve didn't really know what had brought it on, maybe it was just the stress of being on the run or of having the world constantly calling her a monster. But whatever it was, it was making the girl more and more insecure and anxious as the days wore on.

With that in mind, the man opened his mouth to calm the girl down, only for Scott to beat him to it as he gently grabbed the girl's wrist, catching her attention. "Look, Wanda, just...take a second, okay?" he started calmly, in a tone of voice that was much softer and gentler than Scott's usual chipper and hyperactive bouncing. "They're not trying to get rid of us. You're hurt. You need to get that looked at and rest," he said, glancing down at the bandage that had been wrapped around the girl's upper arm.

She glared down at it. "I'm fine-"

" _Let me finish,"_ Scott said in a firmer tone that made all of them blink in mild surprise. "Yeah, we're the newest ones on the team, but that doesn't mean they're calling us _stupid_." He shrugged. "It's just that we don't have the most experience with this stuff. They do. They're kind of the pros at this. We're still fresh meat."

She turned to him, voice slightly calmer. "All the more reason to let us stay. We could _learn_ something!"

"Any other time, I'd agree," he continued with a soft smile and a gentle tap to her shoulder. "But this is serious stuff going on here and they need to be able to talk amongst themselves with people who know what they're talking about, people who have dealt with this kind of stuff before. I know _I've_ never dealt with illegal arms dealers and underground black market activity disguised as government work bends." He paused and quirked a brow at her. "Have you?"

Wanda stared at him for a moment before blowing out a sigh and glancing down at the ground. "No."

"Alright. So...let's let them do what they do best. And in the morning, they can fill us in. It's not like they're planning on leaving us in the dark forever, right?" He pointed this last question to the others, Steve quickly answering for them. "Of course not. We just...need to talk alone. I need some...expert opinions on this."

Wanda stared at the soldier for a minute, eyes hard before she relented, swallowing thickly as she rubbed her bandaged arm. "Alright...but only if you promise to tell us _everything_ in the morning. And I mean _everything._ "

Steve nodded. "Of course."

The girl continued to stare at the ground, obviously not satisfied. Scott let a small chuckle fall from his lips as he wrapped an arm around the girl. "Trust me, kiddo. This has got _nothing_ to do with a lack of trust, alright? I mean, how could they _not_ trust you? They literally _leap_ off of buildings with nothing to catch them but _you_. Which, I'd like to add, is just about the coolest thing I've ever seen. Well...almost."

He lifted his hand to brush up against the girl's hair, only to suddenly pull a playing card out from behind her ear. She blinked at the card, watching as he twisted it around in his fingers before smirking at her. "I mean...it's hard to top that, right?"

She stared at him for a bit before cracking a smile and letting out a little laugh. "It _is_ pretty hard to beat."

Scott passed her the card. "Why don't you hold onto that for me and go set up the medical supplies. I'll be over there in a second. Maybe if you're an extra good patient I can teach you a couple more tricks."

The girl rolled her eyes but the smile remained and she didn't protest the offer as she walked off.

The others watched her leave before Sam was clapping Scott on the back. "Not bad, man. How'd you do that?"

Scott smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "That? That was easy. You should see me try to convince a 7-year-old to finish her math homework. Not gonna lie, I can only count how many apples Sally has in her basket before I crack," he sighed, Clint shooting him a knowing look and a sympathetic nod.

Steve chuckled and folded his arms. "And the card trick? Didn't peg you for the magic type."

"What? You think I'm gonna _hire_ someone to entertain my kid at a birthday party? Please!" he called over his shoulder as he walked off.

**. . . . .**

Sam folded his arms from his seat at the makeshift table, which was really just a collection of boxes that had been scattered around the warehouse, all of their files and papers strewn atop it. "So, how are we supposed to figure out who the rat is? I doubt that sort of info's just sitting around on someone's desktop hard drive," he muttered, glancing around at the others.

They'd been discussing the topic of what they'd discovered at the facility for over an hour now, Cap and Natasha filling in both Sam and Clint on what they'd found on the servers. Scott and Wanda had long since fallen asleep in their makeshift beds, Steve making a point to remind them to keep their voices low.

"I was thinking about that on the flight back," Natasha started, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "The majority of the hauls the DC facility has been collecting have come in from Manhattan, leftover tech from the 2012 attack, right?" They nodded. "Well, we just have to find out more information on who's in charge of the haul transfers for Manhattan, considering this is where the tech leaks are coming from."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "That would be the _head_ of the Damage Control New York division. They'd have access to _all_ information about the haul sites and the drive routes. Not to mention when the best times to hit said trucks would be."

Steve noticed the others casting wary glances at each other, knowing there was a high probability that the head of the division was the leak himself. He decided to address their unspoken thoughts. "We don't know for certain that he's involved, whoever he is. But it's a start. At the very least, the head of the division most likely has access to the database we need, the names and information of any and all suspects."

Natasha pressed her tongue into the inside of her cheek and cocked a brow. "The only problem is the DDC New York office is smack dab in the middle of Manhattan." She uncrossed her legs and leaned in. "This isn't some isolated storage facility on the outskirts of a DC forest. This is right in the heart of the city, with cameras and eyes _everywhere._ "

Steve remained silent for a moment, resting his elbows against the crate and folding his hands together. She was right. Pulling off a job like this would be _immensely_ harder than the one they'd just pulled. The chances of them being spotted, or worse, _caught_ were much higher in a populated metropolitan area where there weren't many places to hide.

"We'll have to plan," he finally murmured lowly, the others turning to him. "And it's gonna have to be tight. We draw attention to ourselves here and we'll have no choice but to leave and move hideouts, which will only make things harder now that we're getting closer to actual answers."

Sam lifted his brows for a second and rested an arm over the lip of his chair. "Not to mention if we bring Ross or his goons or... _hell_ , Stark himself sniffing around, who knows when we'll be able to safely go out again."

Clint's eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened. "I'm not afraid of Ross, or his iron attack dog."

"Well you _should_ be," Natasha snapped, obviously not in the mood for Clint's rilings. "As long as he has the keys to the Raft, he's a threat and one we should make a point not to aggravate."

 _"Enough,_ " Steve piped in before Clint could respond with an undeniably sharp retort. "We'll worry about Ross later. Right now," he reached into his pocket and held up the flash drive they'd loaded with the server info from the DDC, " _this_ takes priority. This is bigger than any of us were expecting. We have to take this seriously. If not, who knows how many people will get hurt, how many lives those weapons will destroy. Hell, who knows how long this could go on if this guy isn't caught?"

Nobody said anything at that, the gravity of his words filling the room with palpable tension. It was no secret how big this was getting, bigger than just a few goons smuggling underground weapons. This was stretching higher and higher up on the chain of commands the longer they stayed on the trail. Who _knew_ how high up this went, how high it would _continue_ to go?

Steve took the last few moments to discuss when they'd start tacking down a _real_ plan, complete with times to start contacting Hill to fill her in as their informant before dismissing the others to go and rest. Their day had been long to say the least.

The others didn't put up too much of a fuss considering at this point they were basically dead on their feet as it neared four in the morning. He excused himself from the table while Clint and Sam walked off towards their corners of the warehouse, murmuring quietly to each other as they left.

Steve watched them walk off before turning away and glancing over at the rickety stairwell in the corner, which led up to the large catwalk overhead. He hesitated for a heartbeat, debating whether or not he should heed his own advice and call it a night before letting out a small sigh and making his way up the stairs.

He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

The catwalk itself was fairly wide, most likely able to fit at least six people standing shoulder to shoulder, with thick railings along the sides. The walk extended around the entire warehouse, stretching along each of the four walls before reconnecting back where it started at the stairwell. Steve ran his hands along the rusted metal of the railings before stopping at one of the many massive windows that dotted the walls.

It was still raining outside, the inky skyline so black and foggy the soldier couldn't even see the outline of the distant buildings. He could hear the rain though, hear it pounding against the metal roof, sharp and distinct. It was like a rolling wave, the rain weakening in moments before growing stronger in others, the noise cascading in rhythm to the changes.

The man gently ran his fingers over the flash drive in his pocket, tracing the etched lines and grooves of the device. After a little bit, the metallic thrumming was joined by the familiar sound of footsteps approaching on the rickety catwalk. Steve didn't turn away from the window as Natasha joined him, her shoulder brushing up against his as she sidled up.

"We're finally _getting_ somewhere," he said after a few beats of silence.

She scratched at her cheek. "Yeah...but are we really sure it's somewhere we _want_ to be?"

Steve blew out a sigh and shut his eyes, knowing they'd revisit this conversation eventually. Still, he'd hoped the woman would save it for another time, or just forget it entirely, but he knew it was just a pipe dream. "We can't just ignore this, Nat. This... _little_ we're doing...at least it's something." He turned to her, bright blue eyes meeting vivid emerald. "We're still Avengers, no matter what the rest of the world says, no matter what Ross or...Tony says." The woman's eyes twitched at his hesitance. He pretended not to see it.

"And while we still hold that title...we do what we can." He turned back towards the window, eyes hard. "I can't just...stand by and let people get hurt because I'm too afraid to do anything. I can't. That's not who I am."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to be that. I never would." She rolled her eyes. "You'd never listen anyway, so there'd really be no point."

Steve huffed a small chuckle. Natasha continued with a more sober tone. "I'm just...I want you to be smart about this, Steve. It isn't just you that you need to think about, here. It's them." She angled her head down towards the ground level. They were both high enough that they could see into the sectioned off sleeping quarters of the warehouse.

They could see Sam sitting on his makeshift mattress, reading a book by the light of a spare flashlight. Wanda was already fast asleep, curled up against Scott's chest, who was sitting on his mattress with his legs stretched out and his back propped up against the wall. The man's eyes were closed, but he cracked them open as Clint approached, throwing the archer a humored look as he plopped down next to him. Clint rolled his eyes, but gave no complaints as Wanda rolled over slightly so that her head was now cushioned by the men's shoulders, her body positioned right between them both. They said nothing as Scott went back to sleep and Clint turned his head to glance out the nearby window.

Steve watched for another moment before turning away. He didn't need Natasha to remind him of what was at stake here, not just the lives of innocent civilians, but his own teammates.

He glanced down at the railing, fingers curling slightly around the metal. He knew he had a job to do. He was an Avenger, whether the rest of the world wanted to acknowledge it or not. He had a duty, a responsibility to protect the people down in that city, in the surrounding cities, in every city he could reach. He had a duty to protect every man, woman, child, every _family_ that needed it.

Still...he cast one last glance at the others down below.

It never got easier...putting his _own_ family at risk.

So with that, Steve turned back to Natasha, jaw set. "There's another manufacturing plant that Hill said is rumored to be somewhere in Queens. I'm gonna investigate tonight."

Natasha sucked in a breath and threw him an exasperated look. "Steve..."

"Just reconnaissance. Don't worry."

The woman continued to give him an unpleased look. She thought about offering to go with him, but could tell there was something lurking in his eyes, a reason to his sudden declaration. It was obvious the man wanted to do this alone, or else he would have set up a group operation. She considered pressing him on the matter, but decided against it, realizing if there was something he wanted to tell her, her poking and prodding wouldn't get him to open up any faster, despite her impatient thoughts.

So instead, the woman huffed and shook her head. "With you, I always worry. You have a knack for being an idiot, which usually leads to trouble."

The man smiled and bumped her gently with his arm. "Well...guess it's a good thing you always have my back, huh?"

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the unwavering trust that shone behind those stupidly brilliant eyes, eyes that had been shining for the past four years that she'd known them, ever since that first day on the Helicarrier.

It was safe to say they'd both changed in more ways than one since those days. Steve, fresh out of the ice, newcomer to just about _everything_. His discomfort had been obvious and understandable. He was a man out of time, plopped into a new world that wasn't his own. And Natasha...well, she'd never had people call her by the same name for so _long_ before, to say the least.

It had been rough, both back then and now. It seemed that whenever they stopped one crisis, another was taking it's place. And when they couldn't _find_ a crisis, they _made_ one within themselves.

But despite everything, despite the hardships and the fights and the struggles, the politics and shootings and monsters, as she stared into those eyes that _refused_ to give up, _refused_ to stand down, Natasha Romanoff could say something now that she never could of said four years ago on that Helicarrier: that she would lay her life down in a _heartbeat_ to save her friend, to save her _brother_ , just as she knew he would, too.

So with that, the woman rolled her eyes and flicked the man in the shoulder.

"You're such a dork, Rogers."

* * *

**Date: Ap#vrT4/v**

**Location: ?hh*88%**

**Time: 0s..ygZ#r**

Peter blinked open his eyes and breathed.

He glanced around, eyes flitting back and forth as he stood rigid, muscles tense and mind racing.

He existed... _somehow_. One second, he'd been nothing, felt nothing, just a consciousness floating around in empty space. And the next he was here, standing in the middle of the downstairs hallway. At least, he _thought_ it was the downstairs hallway. It looked...different somehow. He stared long and hard at the walls, the peeling wallpaper and the faded green rug underneath his feet. Huh...that was odd. He wasn't wearing any shoes. Why wasn't he wearing shoes? Why was he down here anyway? Why couldn't he remember coming downstairs?

The teen blew out a small breath, surprised at the white mist that trickled through his lips. He shivered and rubbed at his bare arms. _That_ was weird, too. He never went out without a jacket on anymore. Too many scars to cover up. He looked down at his arms and balked as he realized the scars were gone! His fingers were rubbing at _smooth skin!_

"Okayyy...?"he mumbled to himself, starting to get weirded out. What was going on?

He took a hesitant step forward, feeling the soft carpet squishing underneath his bare feet. The feeling felt somehow...familiar. As he warily began to tread down the hallway, his eyes caught sight of a few photo frames hanging on the walls up ahead.

_But...we don't hang photos anymore..._

He approached them with scrunched eyes, blinking in shock as he caught sight of the first photo.

It was a picture of him and his mom, at least...that's what he _assumed_ it was. The photo itself held him as a toddler sitting on the lap of a woman. But he couldn't make out her face. Her head was blurred out, nothing but a smudge of swirling colors where her face _would_ have been. The teen took a step back before glancing at the other wall and finding even _more_ photos, all containing him as a baby and the woman with the same blurred face. His gut clenched as he stepped away from the walls and continued down the hall.

As he walked, the photos continued to come. But they were...changing? There was a picture of twelve-year-old him standing with May at a grave sight, smiling happily and holding ice cream cones and balloons. There was another of him in his Spider-Man suit, posing with the Cons in a normal group photo, even complete with bunny ears. But his suit...it was black, the spider emblem a stark white. And there was a polaroid picture pinned to the wall with a thumbtack, with writing scrawled on the bottom line: **_Me and Danny_**. But when he looked up at the actual photo, it was just him, with his arm around empty air.

He continued to swivel his head around to stare at the increasing number of photos adorning the wall, each and every one of them... _off_ in some form. Peter smiling next to strangers, his father and Mr. Stark shaking hands. Hell, there were some photos that were of nothing but butterflies, close-up shots that revealed the tiny details of their wings and their delicate shades of color.

It wasn't until he started approaching the end of the hallway that he noticed the final picture.

It was of him and Mr. Stark, but even this one seemed... _wrong._ They were both smiling at the camera in what appeared to be the Tower. But every time Peter blinked, the picture changed. With each shift of his eyes, the background began to fill with more and more butterflies. First there was just one or two behind them, seemingly unnoticeable. But every time he turned away and glanced back, there were more of them in still-picture form, more and more swarming the photo until eventually they blocked out both Peter and Tony's faces.

He could almost hear them through the confines of the picture, their wings beating furiously in time with his rising heartrate.

He didn't like this.

Peter narrowed his eyes and reached forward, grabbing the frame by the sides. He reared back as it jolted in his hands, almost as if the butterflies were _literally_ coming alive off the paper. But instead of dwelling, the teen lifted his hands and smashed the picture on the floor.

Instantly, a cloud of butterflies shot into the sky, erupting from the remains of the photo. Peter gasped and lifted his arms over his head, stumbling back until he hit the wall as the swarm filled the hallway. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his arms protectively over his head as he heard them fluttering around him, slamming into the walls and colliding with his body before they finally began to pool down the seemingly never-ending hallway, disappearing into the darkness and leaving him in total silence.

He gasped for breath, eyes wide as he stared off into the black void where they'd disappeared, latching a shaking hand onto the front of his shirt. His frantic eyes slowly drifted back down to the photo frame. The wood had broken into pieces and the glass had shattered, leaving the actual photo lying underneath the broken remnants. Peter hesitated for a moment before warily approaching, stooping down and brushing the glass and wood aside before picking up the picture and flipping it over, stomach dropping.

The photo was _empty_ , simply showing the background of Stark Tower. He and Tony were gone, as if they'd never been in the picture in the first place.

_Erased._

Peter aggressively flicked the photo to the ground as if it had physically burned him. He stared at it with panicked eyes before whipping his head back up. _What the heck is going on here?!_

Suddenly, his ears perked and his head lifted as the teen heard something. It was soft and hard to hear, but he could still pick it up. It sounded like...humming? _What?_

The teen turned his head as he realized it was coming from the end of the hallway. He glanced back at the wall of pictures, his gut clenching in worry before he blew out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. What else was he gonna do? Sit in the hallway with the demon photos? No, thanks.

So, with a small roll of his shoulders, Peter began down the hallway again. Distantly, he could have sworn he heard the soft fluttering of more wings, but every time he looked back to check, there was nothing but the encroaching dark void that seemed to suck in more of the hall with each step he took. Finally, as he reached the end of the hall, he rounded the corner and quickly froze, eyes blowing wide and mouth falling agape.

It...it was his living room...from _ten years ago!_

It was exactly how he remembered it. The faded yellow wallpaper that clashed with the dark green carpet. The small crackling TV that held nothing but static and even the tiny rounded coffee table with a multitude of different marker and paint stains. There was a radio on one of the cabinets, softly chiming out a song Peter's fritzing mind didn't even register. The window curtains were drawn back, allowing the early-morning light to filter in, illuminating the tiny room in beautiful golden rays. Even the temperature had leveled out into a nice warm breeze. But what really made his heart stop was the woman sitting on the couch, facing him, head down as she tinkered with something in her lap, peacefully humming away.

His mother lifted her eyes and caught sight of him, smile growing on her face. "There you are, honey. Do you think you could grab that for Mommy, please?"

She gestured with her hand towards the table, where a small tool kit suddenly glitched into existence. Peter stared at her, body stuck as his mind tried to wrap around what was happening here. He could hear the blood rushing around his ears, the sound of his rattling breathing as his hands shook beside him.

Mary lifted her eyes as she seemed to notice the lack of movement. She tilted her head. "What's the matter, honey?" she called before giving a playful roll of her eyes and standing. "Fine. I'll get it myself."

"Mom..." the word trickled out of his mouth, a small little drip that splattered onto the floor.

He could hear the music a little clearer now. _Eleanor Rigby_...one of his mother's favorites. She glanced down at whatever was in her hand as she grabbed the tools and sat back down. "I think I'm finally making some progress here, huh?"

She held up the arc reactor that rested in her palm, light flickering dimly inside.

Peter took a small, shy step forward, heart pounding and stomach flipping all over the place. "You're...y-you're here?"

"Of course I am, silly? Where else would I be?"

He continued to stare, afraid that if he took his eyes off of her that she would disappear entirely. He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips as he stepped closer. He knelt down on the floor right in front of her, drinking in the sight of her as a wave of relief swept through him so strongly he thought he'd collapse. Peter reached a hand forward to grab hers, only to watch as he simply passed right through her, her form glitching out before returning to normal.

He gasped and reared back slightly, wide eyes growing even larger. The warmth that had been blooming in his chest quickly froze over into icy realization as he stared up at her face, watching it continue to glitch before falling still. Her eyes had switched from a light blue to a deep green.

"This...this is a dream." He let out a small breath as he slowly lowered his hands into his lap, body physically deflating as he dragged his gaze to the green carpet below. "You're...you're not..."

 _"~All the lonely people..."_ she murmured in a soft voice as she continued to fiddle with the invention in her hands. " _Where do they all come from? All the lonely people...where do they all belong?~"_

Peter felt his stomach clenching as he shut his eyes tightly.

"Can we _please_ change the song, Mary?"

His eyes sprung _right_ back open at the new voice that entered. Peter whipped his head around and nearly fainted as Ben walked into the room, grimacing at the radio as he approached. "I can't stand this depressing shi-uh, stuff." He threw Peter a sheepish look and a smile. He thought his heart was going to burst right then and there. He could feel it buffering like a dying car battery.

"Ben..."

The man winked at him. "What's up, sport?" Ben got to the radio and flicked the knob on the side, shuffling through the static before landing on a... _song?_ Whatever it was was garbled and warped, an audible mess that sounded like a song being played in reverse, leaving nothing but the distorted jumble of noise. Ben crinkled his eyes and smiled. "There. That's better. A classic."

Peter swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy as he raised himself up to his feet, a chilling shiver running up his spine. Something wasn't right here.

Mary rolled her eyes at Ben. "You're such a fart."

"Real mature. Do us a favor, Pete, and don't take too much after your mother, huh?"

Peter could hear the man laughing but quickly grimaced at the noise, wrapping his arms around himself as he stared at the carpet, trying and failing to wrap his mind around what was happening. His mother must have noticed his distress, for she set down the reactor and stood up. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

She glitched again.. Her eyes changed from green to brown and her hair turned a shade darker. But not only that, her voice also sounded... _off._ It was normal at times, but at the end of her sentences, it would go all fuzzy, a static noise that made it sound like she was speaking through a radio transmission, like the frequency was about to be lost.

_(He couldn't remember her voice.)_

His breath hitched as he stared up at her for a fraction of a second before ripping it away. He couldn't look at her, not when this wasn't even _her._

"This...this isn't real." His voice was weak, trembling. "None of it is."

Mary chuckled. "Of course not, honey. I figured that much was obvious."

Peter blinked, but decided not to comment as his mother took another step closer, wrapping her hands over his shoulders. The touch felt cold, foreign. It was a stranger's hands. "Gosh, I'm just so proud of you, Peter."

This time, he _did_ look up.

"I know it must be hard memorizing _all_ those lines. Script reading is never easy. Oh, and of course all those clunky masks you have to wear must get so _heavy._ But you carry it all like a champ!"

At this, Peter's brows furrowed and he crinkled his eyes in confusion. "What? What...are you talking about?"

She continued on as if she hadn't heard him. "Oh, but it's all worth it so long as the audience is happy." She turned to stare at him. She glitched again. "It's all for the audience."

Faster than Peter could react, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by the chin, spinning his head to the side and forcing his eyes to the living room wall. Except...the wall wasn't there anymore.

Peter gasped as he saw that, where the wall _used_ to be, there was now row after row of auditorium seats. He glanced around and realized that his living room had now transformed into a set piece on top of a stage. He gulped and took in the sights of the people _in_ the actual seats, faces he recognized with a panicked glance: Ned, MJ, May, Delmar, Rosa, Murray, Mr. Harrington, Flash, Abe, Sally, Charles, even Pepper, Rhodey and Happy.

The people he _did_ recognize, however, only took up about the first three rows. The others were filled with strangers, random bodies whose faces he couldn't make out. They were all swathed in shadow, unidentifiable.

Peter felt himself shaking and wrenched his face out of his mother's grasp, staring at her with horrified eyes. Whatever comfort he'd felt when he'd first seen her had quickly evaporated, only to be replaced with frenzied panic. He watched her take a seat back on the couch, placing one leg over the other as she reclined. Ben grabbed a seat on the ottoman.

"I...I don't understand."

The crowd let out a loud wash of laughter, making Peter flinch at the abrupt noise. As he listened, he realized the laugh was that of a sound bite, a laugh track that would play endlessly on the TV sitcoms. He blinked and glanced back at the _actual_ audience, face pinching in distress as he realized none of them had actually moved. They were like _statues._ Their mouths weren't open. They weren't smiling. None of them were _really_ laughing, but the track played on for another second before falling quiet.

"It's easy, baby."

Peter turned back to his mother as she spoke.

She gestured out with one hand at her surroundings. "This is just a show. All of it." She smiled and pointed at him. "You lie to your friends, cover yourself with mask after mask, disguising every last part of yourself in something better, something people _want_ to see. Every day of your life, you put on an act. And I must say, you are one of the _best_ actors I've ever had the pleasure of watching live. The director must be _so_ pleased!" She chuckled and pointed behind Peter, causing him to whip around and stumble backwards in shock at the sight of his father standing off to the side of the stage, arms folded and face slackened back into an emotionless expression.

Peter choked on a strangled gasp as he stared at the man, jumping as he felt his mother come up behind him and grab him by the shoulders, spinning him around to face her as she spread her arms wide. "It's all a show and the _world_ is your stage!"

He stared at her, mouth agape before he was turning his head back around to spy for his father, only to find that the man was gone. Peter grunted in frustration and shut his eyes, whipping back around to face Mary as she smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. He shook his head, recounting her words with a growing gnaw of anguish as he looked up at her with a pleading gaze. "But...I-I...I don't _want_ to keep doing this," he murmured softly, glancing out at the rows of watching eyes, turning away with a wince before staring down at his hands. "I don't _want_ to keep lying. I don't _want_ to put on a performance." He let out a small sigh and dropped his hands back down to his sides.

"I just...wanna be _me_."

A loud " _awww"_ sounded from the audience, another audio track that clipped at the end before cutting off again. Peter narrowed his eyes and shook his head, turning away to keep staring at the floor.

He could see his mother's shoes approaching. They didn't make any noise on the floor as she walked.

He felt her grab at his chin again, but this time the touch was gentle, soft. Peter closed his eyes as she cupped his face carefully, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. For a brief moment, Peter felt a sliver of comfort, like he could pretend he was four years old again in his mother's arms.

Her fingers grew cold suddenly as her grip tightened. Peter opened his eyes and met her eerie stare and chilling smile. "Well...we hardly get what we want in life."

Peter blinked up at her before quickly pulling out of her grip, taking a step back as Ben pushed himself out of his seat with an exaggerated groan. Peter remembered the man would do that to make him laugh as a toddler. He felt sick hearing it again.

"I'll say. Cause honestly, I think I'd prefer to still be living," the man quipped. The laugh track sounded again. The audience still didn't move, didn't even breathe.

Mary scoffed and placed her hands on her hips as she gave the man a teasing smile. "Yeah? Well at least there are people who still remember your face. I can't even get a consistent eye color here!" she laughed, the noise making Peter's heart thud against his ribs and the guilt climb up his stomach.

Ben waved his hand. "Oh, please. You have no right to complain. At least he still mourns you. Apparently, I'm not even _worth_ his guilt."

Peter physically recoiled at that as he took a step forward, face pained. "That's...that's not-"

"I figure I'm at _least_ entitled to that considering _you're_ the reason I'm dead."

Instantly, the air filled with a deadly silence as Peter's body locked up. The audience didn't make a noise. The radio ground to a slow halt, like it had run out of batteries. In fact, he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his head, rattling his brain as it tried to jump start back into remission.

Peter stared out at Mary and Ben, two people who had once brought so much light into his life. They gazed back at him with kind smiles and casual grins, but there was no warmth to be had. Peter could feel the cold snaking through his skin again, could feel it growing in his stomach as the guilt extinguished whatever flame had been melting away the ice. As he felt the frost begin to coat his throat, the only word that was able to escape the icy prison was,

"What...?"

Mary turned to him with a slight furrowed brow. "Oh, honey. Don't tell me you're shocked." She shrugged and smiled. "I thought it was obvious that the only reason we're dead is because of you.

"I...I-I..."

Mary began to run a hand through her hair, absentmindedly detangling a few strands as she continued on in a casual and carefree tone, as if she were discussing the weather. "I could have gotten out of the house. I could have left and run away, never to look back. But I didn't. I couldn't cause I had you. I had to protect you, and I died because of it. " She gestured towards her lifelong friend. "And Ben...well, he didn't even get the decency to die in his own home. He died on a cold, disgusting sidewalk because he tried to make _you_ feel better, because he was protecting _you_."

Peter wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were drilling holes into the carpet floor. He could feel the chill spreading, slicing up his arms in delicate little patterns, snaking up his muscles and through his bones, turning them brittle and breakable. The ice was in his lungs now. He couldn't breathe.

Mary took a step closer. Peter couldn't move. His legs were frozen to the stage. She stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders again, leaning closer. Her breath came out as a swirl of white mist. "Everyone who ever tries to help you suffers for it...and now history is repeating itself." She grabbed his chin again and forced him to look up.

"Mr. Stark..."

The man stood not five feet away, staring blankly at the boy. He looked like he'd just been underwater, his clothes were slicked back to his body and his hair was matted to his forehead, drops sliding down his cheeks and splattering onto the stage below.

The radio crackled off to the side and suddenly Peter heard his own voice filtering through, full of static and fuzz.

_"You're getting wet..."_

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, but didn't move his lips, not even as the man's words came through as if there was a speaker lodged in his throat. Peter shivered again.

_"Yeah, cause apparently you'd rather have this conversation up on top of a metal tower in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm."_

Suddenly, the tiny TV in the corner of the room blared to life, causing Peter to gasp and jump in his spot. He could hear it whirring, fizzling as the grainy picture slowly began to come to life. Peter reluctantly dragged his eyes towards the screen.

He watched as the fuzz died down, displaying a scene that appeared to be from a month ago, when he and Mr. Stark had hidden from Pepper and Rhodey in the tower. It showed the man leaning up against the railing as they stood on the rooftop, face long and weary. His eyes were tired, holding a certain sadness. The image flickered again, changing to reveal him in the car with Peter as they drove to Delmar's for the first time. His face switched from a casual smile to a small frown as he glanced out the window. Again and again, the screen flickered from one image to another of different times from the past two months, showing faces Peter had never caught, looks the man hid from him.

He looked so... _sad._

Mary tightened her grip on the boy's shoulders. "You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?"

Peter pulled his eyes away from the screen and back over to the man standing before him. The teen watched with a choked breath as a portion of skin at the corner of the billionaire's eye cracked, a long jagged scar that cut through the skin like it was made of porcelain.

"He's already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?"

More cracks began to appear all over the man's skin, on his face, his arms, his neck. Deep and black and crooked. Peter could feel tears pooling in his eyes as he reached a shaky hand forward, mind flashing to the outstretched hand Tony had extended to him in the park, on the bridge, a hand that had been extended for the past _two months._

As he thought of the moments, Peter felt a brief flash of overwhelming guilt as he wondered whether or not Tony had been offering a helping hand...or reaching out for one.

"I...I just wanted someone to talk to. S-someone who...who understood."

The audio track looped again, a resounding " _aww"_ that made Peter curl his free hand into a fist. He watched with baited breath as the man before him slowly began to reach his own hand up, ignoring the cracks and scars looping around the limb as he reached his fingers for Peter's.

"Nobody can understand, Peter. They're not allowed to."

As soon as their fingers made contact with each other, Mr. Stark's entire body exploded into a flurry of butterflies, the bugs swirling around the room in a massive cloud. Peter gasped and fell to his knees as the swarm flew past, filling his ears with the roaring sound of their wings beating furiously. He pressed his palms into his eyes and choked on a sob, grinding his teeth together as the butterflies began to evaporate into the air.

He wrapped his arms around himself, but they only made him shiver harder, for they were two thin blocks of ice. Tears dripped down his face, splattering onto his knees as he gasped for breath. It was too hard. His throat was so cold he thought it was going to shatter. The temperature in the room has dropped, the bright rays of sunlight now gone, leaving a starry swatch of purple and blue swirls outside the window. The audience slowly began to disappear, engulfed by the encroaching darkness, leaving only their living room floating in an endless expanse of nothingness.

Peter dragged in a painful breath, but it felt like inhaling tiny little needles that stabbed into his lungs. "I...I n-never wanted to...hurt anybody," he cried.

Mary stood overtop him, her glitching form seeming to suck in whatever warmth remained in his body. "So why do people always die around you?"

The ice had reached his heart now. He could feel it beginning to seep in. "I'm sorry..."

"Sorry doesn't bring us back, baby."

The frost was growing. He had to get this out now before it completely froze over. He lifted his head, eyes wide and pleading as the tears streamed down his face. "I miss you. I...I miss both of you. E-everything was so much... _easier_ when you were here!" He shouted, voice growing in pitch as his heart raced, desperate to stay warm, stay alive. "Dad wasn't so horrible when you were here. And...and Ben...it was so _easy_ to talk to you." He stared at the man, who gave him a gentle smile in return. "You made... _everything_ so much better."

He paused, staring down at his hands. The tips were turning blue, icy. He tapped them together, hearing a soft _clinking_ sound. "You...you made me feel safe. I just...I just wish I could feel that again, stop feeling..." he raised his hands up, watching the blue discoloration begin to spread further down his palm until his entire hand was pure ice. "...so cold. I'm...I'm so _cold."_

Ben huffed a laugh. "Just wait till you're dead."

From the darkness, the laugh track looped again. It shorted out and winded down into a deep drawl that grated into a guttural growl before cutting off altogether.

Mary slowly got down to her knees, cupping Peter's face with her hands. "Peter...baby...look at me, honey."

His brown eyes, now seeping into a cool blue, lifted to meet her gaze. "It's alright, baby. I know it's scary sometimes, but it's all just pretend!" He stared at her, brows furrowing. She continued, gesturing around her. "It's just a couple special effects, right? A couple of lights..."

The Terrarium lights shot to life overhead, making Peter wince and squint his eyes.

"Maybe some sound effects..."

A roll of thunder clapped overhead, shaking the entire floor.

"And a couple of props!"

Peter tore his eyes off of the lights above him and over to where she had moved, blinking as he caught sight of Ned and MJ standing off to the side, expressions neutral and bodies stiff. Any relief he might have felt quickly turned to unease, remembering the butterflies from before. Mary walked over to them. "But it's all fake. All of it." She placed a hand on Ned's shoulder and pushed, revealing them to be mere cardboard cutouts that flopped to the floor with a small _thud_.

Peter didn't react. The ice had spread over his arms now. He could see the bones through the clear coating.

Mary approached him again, smiling warmly as she stooped down and ran a hand through his hair. "You just have to keep going, keep pretending...for _them_." She gently pushed his head to the side, angling his eyes out towards the dark void where the audience had been. There was nothing there now, a sea of blankness.

Ben cleared his throat from where he'd been leaning up against one of the chairs, throwing them both loose grins. "Alright, well I'm gonna tap out. I'm sure there are a couple of crosswords I can hear calling my name." He winked over at Peter. "Hey, sport. Be careful out there."

The man began to walk over to the edge of the living room, glancing back towards the boy. "Oh, and see if you can maybe kill May next, huh? It's be nice to see the wife again. I'm starting to miss her nagging."

His heart clenched, trying to fight the icy tendrils snaking around it.

The man threw them a wave before turning to face the darkness head on. "See you around!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a loud gunshot echoed around the room and suddenly Ben was wordlessly falling to the floor. Peter's eyes widened as he watched the man pass _through_ the floor and disappear altogether.

"Ben!" he shouted, trying to lurch his kneeling body forward, only to find that the ice had now encased him from the floor up to his waist. Mary knelt down again, cupping his face as she whispered soothing words. "It's alright, Peter. It's okay," she shushed, wiping his tears as they fell. The room around them darkened even further, the starry sky outside fading away to be replaced with growing storm clouds. An churning boom of thunder rolled over them, a brief flash lighting outside.

Peter turned his wavering gaze to his mother, mouth chattering as the cold began to overwhelm him and a deep seed of dread curled around his spine, making him pant in fear as he stared at her. "Mom...m-mom..." He wanted her. He _needed_ her here. He couldn't _do_ this.

Whether she seemed to read his mind, or could just tell by the scared look on his face, she pressed her lips against his forehead and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, trying to soak in any ounce of warmth, anything to stop the ice that was soon to engulf him. She pulled him away too soon though, staring at him with kind eyes. "Everything's going to be okay, I _promise_ " With that, she lifted her hand and extended out a pinkie and suddenly Peter was four years old again, looping his tiny little finger with hers.

He stared at her, stared at the extended finger, at the promise it symbolized before his eyes darkened. The ice crawled up his neck. He could feel it spreading over his cheeks.

"How can you promise...when you aren't here to make it happen?"

She stared at him for a moment before lowering her hand. She didn't respond as she silently leaned back and stood up, taking a few steps backwards. Peter's chest thudded dangerously as he watched her stand before him, a tingling sensation spreading down the base of his neck, making the ice vibrate as he caught sight of a form standing right behind her, eyes glowing violently. She finally spoke.

"Everybody lies."

A gunshot cracked through the room and her body dissolved into a mass of butterflies exactly like before. Only this time, the bugs began to fill the room, beating and banging against the walls, crashing into one another as wings tore and tiny masses fell to the floor. Peter scrunched his eyes as he felt them flying around him, felt their wings licking up against his cheeks, crawling through his hair.

He tried to move his arms, crack through the ice and beat them away, but he couldn't move. He was completely helpless as they encroached upon him, crawling up his frozen limbs, around his face.

They pushed through his lips and crawled down his throat, choking him as they skittered down his body. Soon enough, he was filled with bright, beautiful butterflies with happy wings, happy colors, happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts...

* * *

**Thursday, April 28, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor**

**04:23 p.m.**

Over the years, Tony had grown quite accustomed to the taste of alcohol.

Since his first drink at thirteen, the man had quickly evolved his palettes to adapt to the taste, going on to partake in as many drinks as he could try. And he had tried them _all._ Drinking pints of beer Rhodey would reluctantly smuggle in for him in the doors, taking shots of tequila at New Years Eve parties with women he couldn't remember the names of ten minutes after meeting them, even some glasses of champagne at high-class functions or dinners with Pepper. From the fanciest Vodka to the cheapest bourbon, Tony had tried it all.

He could honestly say he'd tried a lot of things over the years. College hadn't just been textbooks and inventing, it had provided him with the tools to fill the gnawing pit inside of him. Alcohol, drugs, girls, college had been the gateway, opening up a path of bad ideas wrapped in ecstasy and one-night stands.

Of course, as he began to fill his time with suits of armor and world-ending missions - the drugs, the girls - he just didn't have time for it anymore.

But the alcohol...the alcohol stayed. As long as there were memories he longed to forget, the alcohol would _always_ stay, an ironically sobering thought. Despite the depressing undertones, and despite Tony's _years_ of tasting and partying and vomiting, nothing beat a simple scotch on the rocks.

Except maybe drinking it straight from the bottle, which he had been doing for the past six hours.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. After all, he'd passed out for a good four hours somewhere in the middle of that stretch. He wasn't entirely sure where, nor did he care to find out. As long as there was another bottle to replace the last, he didn't really much care about anything.

Tony sat on the floor of the penthouse, pressing up against the back of the couch as he faced the large glass walls overlooking the city. The lights were dimmed to near total darkness, matching the tint FRIDAY had graciously placed on the windows so that the glaring lights of the nearby buildings didn't make him hurl again. The steady _pitter-patter_ of raindrops sliding down the glass made the man scrunch his face in annoyance.

_("Kid, what are you doing out here?")_

He was really starting to get sick of the goddamn _rain._

Tony turned his narrowed eyes away from the window and the dreary sights as he brought the bottle of scotch up to his lips and took a swig. The bite still stung his throat, even after hours of drinking, much to his pleasure.

The brief thought of alcohol poisoning had floated through his mind at one point, which had literally made the billionaire laugh at loud. It seemed fitting that of all the ways for him to go, it wouldn't be by an alien attack or a jealous billionaire psychopath or at the hands of his own teammates, but instead by one of the only things that brought him any joy nowadays.

Of. Fucking. Course.

Tony quickly brushed the thought aside. He wasn't lucky enough to die anyway.

A loud vibrating noise made him jump from his seat on the floor and turn his head. His phone lay on the tile beside his knee, the screen bright as the caller ID flashed: _Pepper_. He watched it clatter on the floor, not even considering reaching for it. After a second, it fell silent, the notifications popping up.

**57 MISSED CALLS:  
**

**\- Pepper: 28 calls**

**\- Rhodey: 19 calls**

**\- Happy: 10 calls**

Tony stared at the screen for another moment before turning his head away. He took another sip. It burned.

He supposed he should feel guilty. They'd been calling him nonstop since that morning, most likely when they'd discovered him missing and that their access to his private floor was restricted. That had been a few hours ago and they were _still_ trying. Points for determination, he had to give them that.

_("God, why can't you just GIVE UP?!")_

He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see anybody right now. He just wanted to sit and drink and not have to think about anything! He couldn't _handle_ thinking about anything right now! It was just too _loud._

He could hear it. This little voice in his head that had been niggling at him the second he'd met Peter. It was the same voice that had warned him about getting involved with the kid, the same voice that told him this was something _way_ beyond his scope of remedying, the same voice that told him he would only make things worse, that he only _ever_ made things worse.

Well he hadn't listened. He had ignored it and now he was facing the consequences...because now he _was_ listening. Listening to the sound of the kid's voice, the sound of the rain slapping him in the face, the sound of the wind screeching and the thunder crackling and the cars speeding. He was listening and now he couldn't make it stop.

_("I don't understand! I don't understand **you**!")_

He never should have taken the kid under his wing. He never should have gotten involved in his life in the first place. He'd brought him to Germany, to a fight that didn't even _concern_ him all because Tony needed him, because he hadn't been able to handle things on his own, because he'd fucked up, because he wasn't good enough. Not then and certainly not now.

He knew it. Steve knew it. Even Peter knew it.

_("This... this is all such a bad idea. You and me, we're such a bad idea!")_

Maybe that's why he decided to drag the kid along, using Peter for his own sick gains, as a means to prove to himself that he was capable of doing things right. That Tony Stark could actually do something... _good_ for once. Instead, he'd used the poor kid, distracting himself from his real problems while simultaneously making the boy's life harder than ever before. He'd tried to do good and in the process, he'd made everything _worse!_

 _("These past two months have been some of the worst of my **entire life!**_ ")

But not only was he destroying Peter's life, he was destroying his own. The Accords were in shambles, Ross was a threat that grew in power ever passing day, the Rogues were loose and on the run. Everything was falling apart around him and all he could do was watch...all he could do was _drink_.

It burned.

Tony blew out a sigh and rested the back of his head against the couch, eyes glancing around the room.

The shadows were long, stretching out against the cold metal flooring and sleek jagged corners of the walls and tables, sucking in any traces of light and leaving nothing but dripping black marks that made his skin tingle and flare up as a wave of heat washed over his face.

Empty...so _gut-_ _wrenchingly_ empty.

Tony couldn't help but tighten his grip on the bottle as he stared at the couch that would have once housed numerous bodies, too many in fact.

Despite the assortment of other places for them to sit, they had always tried to fit as many people as possible on the couch. Usually it was him squished in with Cap while Natasha splayed her feet over their laps. Sam would sit on the floor by their feet, bowl of popcorn hoarded in his lap. Clint would sit in the armchair next to them, Wanda usually curling up in his lap whenever she wasn't with Vision at the compound. Together they'd pick some trashy flick or a classic Cap had never seen and waste the night binging shitty movies and making stupid jokes.

The vision faded and the burning sensation returned...only, he hadn't taken a drink. It was in his chest, a hot ball of fire that made his stomach churn painfully and his head splinter.

They were gone. There was no point reminiscing with those memories because they were gone and now _he_ was the joke.

The heat grew, spreading throughout his skin, making his hands shake. He scrunched his eyes shut.

They were _all_ gone. Taken or walked out. One or the other. His parents, Obie, Pepper, Steve, everyone. Gone. By choice or by design. It didn't matter which. The end result was always the same. He was alone.

His blood was boiling. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his face. They burned up. His skin was bubbling. God, why was it so _fucking **hot?!**_

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he could never make them stay. He pushed them away. He drove them out. He was doing it now and he couldn't _stop_ himself. He couldn't stop. Why couldn't he _**stop?!**_

He gritted his teeth, feeling them burn his tongue, melting it to the top of his mouth, welding it shut. God, he was on _fire!_

He was alone. He was alone. He. Was. _ALONE._

With a sudden violent jerk, Tony whipped his body to the side right as a torrent of vomit spewed from his mouth, pooling into the trash bin he'd lugged next to him hours ago. His body shuddered as sweat rolled down his brow, shivering in heat as his stomach lurched painfully. Red dots flashed before his eyes as his hands shook against the rim of the bin. It took another few bouts before the bile was expelled, leaving him heaving up nothing but despair for a few seconds before he wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and slumped back down to the floor, teeming with exhaustion.

His eyes drooped as his heart hammered, stuttering against his chest pitifully as he sat in the heat, burning alive in his own thoughts.

He wasn't good. Not for himself and certainly not for Peter.

He'd call the police in the morning. He knew it wouldn't help but what else could he do? He couldn't let this kid be his problem anymore. Peter didn't deserve that, didn't deserve _him_. At least with the cops and CPS handling things, Tony could say he'd done his duty as a concerned citizen, wipe his hands of this problem.

The hate that grew in himself at the thought nearly made him gag again.

He pushed it down, down into the pile of mistakes that grew with each passing day. The taste of regret remained in his mouth. It tasted like vomit, bitter and dry, impossible to wash out, impossible to forget. It was all impossible to forget, no matter now many drinks he had. Still...he needed something to wash the taste away, wash out those disgusting thoughts, those invading memories.

He was alone.

 _(And it_ 's _probably for the best.)_

Tony's phone rang again. His eyes drifted over to it...then over to the bottle laying next to it. He reached over, ignoring the call as he wrapped his fingers around the glass. It was cold in his hand, hissing against the flaming skin. Maybe it would cool him down, put out the fire charring his insides black. His phone went dark. He took a sip.

It burned.

* * *

**NED  
**

_7:12 AM_

_Hey, u getting here soon? Ur usually here by now_

_. . ._

_7:20 AM_

_Is ur train late again? Do u need me to tell the office?_

_. . ._

_7:34 AM_

_Are u skipping first?_

_. . ._

_9:21 AM_

_Peter, I'm starting to get a little worried here.  
_

_I know today's really rough on u, but we usually handle it together, right? Are u coming to school at all?_

_It's alright if u can't. Just LMK._

_. . ._

_12:32 PM_

_Mr. Harrington was asking about u. Don't worry. I got u covered. Would just like to know ur okay. LMK_

_. . ._

_1:14 PM_

_MJ keeps asking questions. I don't know what to tell her. I don't want to tell her if u don't want me to but she's getting really pushy._

_Peter?_

_. . ._

_2:23 PM_

_I told her. I'm sorry._

_We just want to help._

_I just want to help._

_Peter?_

_Please respond._

_I'm worried about u._

_. . ._

_2:45 PM_

_I don't think ur gonna respond._

_. . ._

_3:01 PM_

_That's okay._

_I'll talk instead. I'm great at that._

_. . ._

_3:05 PM_

_So English was boring as usual. We got a new project assigned for Romeo and Juliet, paper and presentation. Gross, I know. Don't worry, I signed us up as partners. It's due May 13th so we got plenty of time._

_We watched a video on population growth in AP Human. That was pretty interesting. No make-up work._

_Flash was annoying as usual today. Thank god we don't have any more Decathlon practices till next season. I don't think I could have taken his garbage if we had practice today. He loves when ur absent. He gets to flaunt off all his wrong answers lol_

_. . ._

_3:06 PM_

_So I guess u didn't miss much today_

_. . ._

_3:07 PM_

_Still missed u though_

_. . ._

_5:34 PM_

_Peter?_

_Are you okay?_

_. . ._

_5:35 PM_

_Sorry. I know that's probably a stupid question._

_I'd come over to see you if...you know..._

_I guess it's probably not a good idea._

_Still..._

_. . ._

_5:37 PM_

_It's okay if you don't wanna talk, Peter._

_I'm not mad. In case you were worried._

_. . ._

_6:21 PM_

_MJ was pretty upset when I told her. Not at you, just that...you know...that we didn't tell her about today sooner._

_I guess I understand._

_I'm sorry I told her. But you know MJ. She can be scary when she wants to be._

_Don't worry. I told her not to bother you. But like I said, you know MJ. She does what she wants so I wouldn't be surprised if she goes ahead and messages you._

_Just a heads up._

_. . ._

_7:53 PM_

_Peter?_

_I'm sorry about your mom. I really am._

_I know I say that every year. I wish there was something else I could say, but there isn't cause I'm still sorry._

_I know this day is hard on you, even more so since Ben. And...and I know you must feel like total crap right now, but-_

_. . ._

_7:55 PM_

_Sorry. Guess I just had to think about what to type for a second._

_Look, man. All I want to say is that I know you have a lot on your plate, even BEFORE you met Tony Stark._

_You're life is SUPER crazy and you have to deal with so much shit. But I'm not here to add to that, you know. I..._

_Sorry. I'm rambling._

_. . ._

_7:56 PM_

_Peter, just..._

_I love you, man. You're my bestest friend in the history of best friends. Nothing's gonna change that. Spider-Man's not gonna change that. If anything, that just makes it even cooler!_

_I just wanted you to know that._

_Okay._

_I'll leave you alone now._

* * *

**Thursday - April 28, 2016**

**Parker Residence - Third Floor**

**08:32 p.m.**

Peter used to have stars on his ceiling.

It was a stray thought that floated into his mind as he stared up at the ceiling, tracing over the bare white surface as he'd been doing for hours now.

Back when his life had been on the bright path of normalcy and his mother had been lively and full of breath, he'd had a _very_ different room. A tiny little thing with barely enough room for a twin bed and a mini desk for his papers and crayons that matched Daddy's.

He remembered it had been his mother's idea to put up the stars, said that it was impossible to have a small room with the galaxy at his fingertips.

Well, the "galaxy" had consisted less of comets and black holes and more of cheap, glow-in-the-dark, dollar store stickers that constantly fell off when the adhesive revealed its true 99 cent-quality. But Peter had been blown away nonetheless. After all, it wasn't anything a little tape couldn't fix, and the faint glowing of each individual star served as a soothing night-light that would swirl before his eyes in rhythmic little twinkles as his eyes would glaze and he'd dream.

(He still dreamed. They were much different now.)

His ceiling was bare now. Plain and white and empty. Peter supposed it was fitting, matched the rest of the room.

He remembered a game, something the Cons used to play with him back when he was younger. Whenever he was bad (or if they were bored), they would storm his room and try to figure out what he cherished the most. Games, toys, inventions, books, they'd destroy it all on the hunt to figure out his favorite. They competed with each other, fighting to find it first, holding things up and asking if "this book" or "this toy" was his favorite. No? They'd destroy it anyway and keep looking.

They called it _Peter's Pick_. They kept score to see who had the most "wins."

Peter didn't decorate his room anymore. All he had now was his bed - folded with corners that could pass military inspections, a desk with a few papers and pencils stashed in the drawers, a shelf filled with dusty textbooks and a dresser with baggy, ill-fitting clothes to mask how painfully small his figure was.

They didn't play _Peter's Pick_ nowadays. There was nothing of value to destroy anymore. Besides, there were plenty of other games they still liked to play with him, plenty of games where they still kept score. _Hide and Seek, Deep-Sea Diver, Capture the Kid, Simon Says, Crack the Whip,_ _Knucklebones..._ just to name a few that he remembered. And not once had Peter _ever_ won.

Peter perked up slightly as his ears caught the distant sound of walking. The Cons were downstairs, he could tell from the pitch of the voices and the heaviness of each footstep.

He'd been calculating such details ever since he was a kid, would sense the vibrations of their steps from his hiding spot under the bed whenever they'd march towards his room. He could pick out Sandra's trilling or Max's heavy boots from more than a block away, picking up the distinct volume of their voices, the highs and lows of their vocal ranges, even the balanced weight of their walks. Two steps and a word were all he needed to know who was who from three floors down.

(It never made a difference. But it made him feel just a tiny bit better knowing _who_ was on their way to beat him. Gave him time to prepare.)

He could hear their voices mingling together and the sound of a throat being cleared. His father, he could tell from the soft gruffness that laced onto the man's every word and the cool collectiveness of his commands. His father's voice was unmistakable, if only for the way it made his skin prickle every time he heard it.

 _They're leaving..._ He thought to himself as he heard the collective _thrumming_ of their footsteps before the sound of a door closing. Peter couldn't help the small sigh of relief he let out as his body released some of the tension it stored permanently in his muscles, an ever-present ache that appeared the second he stepped foot in the house.

It wasn't like they were going to mess with him, they never did today.

Peter knew his father was a lot of things but sentimental was not one of them. However, through the past ten years of hard schedules and rigid systems, today was the one day with...none of that. In every other sense, Richard Parker never even acknowledged that he'd ever had a wife, let alone ever took the time to grieve or mourn the anniversary of her death (unless someone else brought it up, to which he'd quickly whip up some grief-stricken face and quietly lament his sorrows for his "beloved" late wife).

But for some reason, when the day came around each and every year, there would be no trainings for Peter to complete, no yellings or beatings. Hell, they'd never even come into his room.

For all intents and purposes, today was the one day they left him alone.

Peter didn't know why. He knew his father must have ordered the Cons to comply, but he just didn't know... _why_. Perhaps today was the one day his father took genuine pity on him. Maybe it was just as hard on him as it was on Peter and leaving the teen to his own devices was the best way for him to avoid showing weakness in front of his son. Maybe...maybe this was his way of grieving, another display of his humanity, however small it might be.

Whatever it was, and whatever Peter chose to believe, he didn't question it, not then and certainly not now.

Peeling his eyes away from the door now that the potential threat had vacated the premises for what he had to assume was the rest of the night, Peter instead glanced down at his phone. It sat discarded on the floor near his foot, silent and still for at least the past couple of hours.

_Ned must have finally gotten tired._

It was never easy, seeing just how much his friend cared about him, to the point of worry. His stomach lurched as another bubble of guilt floated up to his throat. He couldn't bring himself to respond to any of them. He didn't know what he'd say if he did. _Sorry for being such a troublesome friend but it'd probably do you some good to just drop me altogether and save yourself the hassle!_

Something told him it wouldn't fly over very well with his buddy, despite the ringing truths.

Peter thought of MJ, more specifically, what Ned had apparently confessed to MJ. He shouldn't have been very surprised. His mother's death wasn't exactly a secret. Anybody with a computer could look up some newspaper articles from a decade ago, when the story had been blasted all over the circuits. Still, the idea that somebody else knew the circumstances of the day. that somebody else was intruding on his grief...it left Peter with a strange tickle in his throat, a stickiness latching onto his chest.

Most kids didn't know about his mother, it had happened so long ago, before any of them were old enough to really understand the headlines scrolling along the bottom of their TVs. The adults, however...They were a different story.

Peter could remember the looks teachers would throw him before he'd decided never to go out in public on the anniversary. Their cloyingly-sweet expressions, mixtures of unwanted sympathy and unwarranted sadness as they stared at him in pity, patting him on the shoulder and whispering encouraging words. (He still remembered the feeling of Ned holding him back as Mr. Dicharo walked back to his desk, his words of "My mom moved away when I was little so I know how you feel, buddy" still echoing.)

He shook the images away. His head was already too crowded at the moment, too noisy. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that made Peter wince and grit his teeth, stooping forward slightly from his seat on the floor. He placed a hand to his head and ran his thin fingers through his hair.

It was still damp.

Peter's felt his fingers twitch against his scalp as his eyes warily trailed over towards the underside of his bed, where a small portion of the Spider-Man suit could still be seen. He stared at it for a second before reaching over and pushing it further under the bed.

It hadn't stopped raining, not since last night. He'd changed into clean clothes, stripped of the suit and had plopped down onto the floor, where he'd been for the whole day. He just couldn't bring himself to get up. Around his shoulders was Ben's jacket, warm and heavy. It served as little comfort, though.

_("At least he still mourns you. Apparently, I'm not even worth his guilt.")_

He kept his eyes trailed on the glass balcony doors, watching the raindrops slide down the glass, interweaving between each other or clashing altogether in large splashes of water that sunk down and splattered onto the floor.

Peter could still feel it, the rain hitting against his skin. Could feel it soaking through his clothes, slicking them down. He could sense the wind slapping up against his face, brushing his hair across his forehead in dark wet strands that rolled water down his cheeks. The thunder was rolling, the lightning flashing. He could see Mr. Stark with his hand outstretched. First the park, then the bridge...it was so close.

The teen gingerly flexed his fingers against the soft carpet, touching nothing but empty air. There was no hand now.

He narrowed his eyes and glared down at the floor as he dropped his hands into his lap. Of all the days for Mr. Stark to start riling things up again, it had to be today? Of _all days_ it had to be _today_?! Peter gritted his teeth, eyes burning holes into the soft carpet floor. "Dead for ten years and you're still causing problems, huh?" he muttered bitterly before he felt his face grow hot with shame, averting his gaze to the back wall as he sighed. _God, Parker. Leave it to you to blame your dead mother for your own problems, you lowlife._

He knew...he knew and he didn't want to admit it. He knew that there was nobody to blame here but himself. He'd made the choice to go to Germany. He'd decided to take up Tony's offer to intern. He'd decided to stick close to the man. He'd decided to brush off Michelle's warnings, the Cons' warnings, his _father's_ warnings.

Well, not anymore. He couldn't ignore his instincts anymore, they had kept him alive for the past ten years, he couldn't afford to forsake them now.

He'd gotten careless. He'd indulged himself with ridiculous pleasures and toxic circumstances, putting himself in danger with his own reckless behavior. Now it was coming back to bite him and there was nobody to blame but himself.

 _(_ _"I figure I'm at least entitled to that considering you're the reason I'm dead.")_

He was always to blame.

Peter blew out a haggard sigh and shut his eyes, resting his head against the side of the bed as he tried to ignore the clawing yearn in his stomach that made him want to vomit. He couldn't afford to start throwing up, not when his main source of food was now effectively cut off. Peter dug his teeth into his lower lip at the thought, as his mind swirled around the billionaire.

Tony Stark.

He had been hearing that name his entire life. From the TV reports to his father's rants to the excited rabble of his schoolmates in the playground, Tony Stark had been a name in his head for as long as he could remember. But he never thought the man would become _more_ than just a name.

And yet he was. Mr. Stark was so much... _more_ to him. Peter didn't know how to explain it, and that was what scared him. With his friends, his family, even May, he knew exactly where they fell, what category they filled, what box they occupied. He knew their place and his place among them. He was an equal with his friends, a submissive in his family, maybe even a comrade with the people of 57th Street. He knew how to act with all of them, the rules that applied to each group.

But Mr. Stark? He was the wild card. Peter had no idea where the man fit, and thus, no idea how to act around him. He couldn't afford that, couldn't afford to _not know._ Not knowing meant unpredictability. The Cons might be horrible to him, but at least he could always _expect_ that horribleness, could prepare for the smacks and the verbal jabs. With them, he always knew the hit was coming even if he didn't know _when._

There was no sense of predictability with Mr. Stark. the man had built his entire name on the idea of _unpredictability!_ How could Peter associate with him when he never knew how to prepare, what to expect? Mr. Stark was always nice to him _now_ but how did Peter know that wasn't going to change, that one day, he'd get so angry that he'd just lash out?

And it wasn't just that. His father had made it abundantly clear that the only reason he'd allowed Peter's relationship with the man was so they could use it against Mr. Stark. He didn't know how, but he knew his father never made mistakes. If he wanted Peter in there, then there _was_ a reason. And whatever it was, it wouldn't be good for Mr. Stark.

Could he really keep himself in the man's company, knowing all that he knew, knowing that he was a ticking time bomb that could be detonated at any moment?

But still...despite the looming degree of uncertainty, Peter couldn't help but enjoy the man's company. He knew it was selfish, but how could he not? For the first time in ten years, Peter had the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. And not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker too! How could he not adore the man that had given him said freedom?

So how did Peter repay him?

_("Everyone who ever tries to help you suffers for it...and now history is repeating itself.")_

By bogging down his life. By piling him with problem after problem that weren't his to deal with.

_("You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?")_

By making him feel responsible for Peter, responsible for _helping_ Peter when it wasn't his responsibility. His responsibility ended at Spider-Man.

(" _He's_ _already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?")_

There was only one real reason Peter had to cut contact with Tony Stark: to save his life before Peter had the chance to kill him, too.

**. . . .**

Peter jolted awake as the harsh sound of banging flicked against his ears. His eyes quickly blinked against the oppressing darkness encroaching around him. He pressed a hand to his head as he tried to orient himself, groggily reaching for his phone to check the time.

 _10:21 p.m._ He'd only been asleep for a few hours.

He noticed Ben's jacket was still draped over him. He pulled it tighter. Ears still ringing from the strange noise, Peter flicked his eyes around the room, trying to locate whatever had woken him. It was still raining outside, the sound of the drops hitting the deck of his balcony muffled against the glass barrier. Peter glanced back at the door with a grimace of apprehension, straining his ears to search for the telltale sound of thudding boots and booming voices.

Nothing. Silence. They weren't home yet.

The teen breathed a small sigh of relief at that, only to jump as he heard the noise again, a harsh thumping that echoed around his room. Peter narrowed his eyes and lifted up to his feet, swaying slightly as he quickly realized he hadn't gotten up in hours, nor had he eaten. The familiar pangs of hunger began to gnaw on his stomach at the realization, but Peter pushed them aside. He was used to them by now, knew how to choke them down and live with them.

Realizing the noise had come from the balcony, the teen warily began to approach the glass. There weren't any trees nearby, so a stray branch most likely wasn't the culprit, nor was the rain hard enough to mimic the harsh rapping he heard.

Pressing his hands against the glass doors, Peter leaned his face closer to try and peer through at the balcony beyond.

"Hey!"

" _Gah!"_

Peter reared back so forcefully he tripped over his feet and stumbled to the floor as he caught sight of the face that had suddenly popped into view. Danny's hair was slicked with rain, his clothes soaked through. He _had_ to be freezing, but he wasn't even shivering as he stood outside the teen's doors. He just wiped his face of the rain and threw the boy a humored look. "Wha? Got somethin' on my face?"

Peter stared at the boy with a slacked jaw, grunting as he fisted at his shirt as if the action could slow his thudding heart. He blinked and scrunched his eyes. "Danny?"

"Obviously."

"W-what are you...what are you _doing_ here?!"

The older teen rolled his eyes, seemingly unfazed by the rain still splashing down over him. "I'm here to drop of a care package. What'dya _think_ I'm doing 'ere, ya daft prat? Now you gonna let me in or would you rather I do a lil' jig first?"

As the shock began to wear off, it was quickly replaced with annoyance as Peter's face fell into a look of exasperation. He could handle Danny's rugged attitude most of the time. He dealt with a lot worse from the Cons, and it was mostly understandable considering the older boy's predicament. But today, today he didn't even want to hold a conversation with his _nice_ friends, let alone the jagged street kid who was prone to pushing buttons.

Still, Peter couldn't ignore Danny's soaked state. His clothes were hanging off of him in sopping rags and his hair was falling down around his eyes, his skin pale and clammy. He looked like he'd just been drowned.

So with a long sigh and a curse muttered towards the calendar, Peter rose up from the floor and over to the balcony doors, unlocking them. He didn't even have time to open them before Danny was shoving his way through. Peter bit back his irritation. It was just Danny being Danny.

The older teen wasted no time as he headed over towards the bathroom and walked in. Peter heard his voice floating out. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I think I used to like the rain a lot more when I had a roof over my head. You feel me?"

Peter said nothing, merely hummed as he plopped back down onto his bed. It barely even creaked.

Danny popped his head out of the bathroom, towel fuzzing up his hair. "I mean, what kind of shitty week has two wash out days in a fuckin' row? this is New York, not fuckin' Florida!" The teen finished drying his hair and tossed the towel to the floor. "The streets are gonna turn to marsh by the end of the month, cuz. Just you wait."

Peter disregarded the statement, choosing instead to stare at Danny's clothes, which were still in a poor state. "Aren't you cold?"

"Huh?"

"You're soaked. And it's still in the 60s outside. Aren't you cold?"

Danny gazed back at him for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. "Ah, just a bit parky out there. Why? You worried 'bout me, mate?" he teased with a smirk. Peter didn't react to the poke, however as he simply glanced back over towards the balcony doors. It was so dark, it was hard to really see anything past the lights of his balcony, a dim yellowish haze that illuminated the rain in a small cloud of light.

Danny must have picked up on his silence, for he popped a seat on the edge of Peter's desk and tilted his head. "You're being a bit tight-lipped. More so than usual."

Peter shrugged. His bones felt heavy. "Whatever."

The older teen paused for a beat, seeming to weigh his options, before he pushed off of the desk and waltzed over to Peter. "What? The rain making your bones ache, ya codger? My Pappy used to say that, said he could feel the rain in his hands." He reached out and latched onto Peter's wrists, shaking them in the air before pressing his ears against them. "You getting anything from them, bruv?"

( _Too close. Too close. Touching. No touch)_

Peter ripped his hands out of Danny's grasp, hackles raising as he leveled a harsh glare. "Leave me alone, Danny! Stop touching me."

Danny raised his hands in defense. "I'm just playing, mate." He took a step closer.

"I said _back OFF!"_

The teen finally got the hint as he leapt backwards at the sudden display of anger. "Alright, alright! What's got you so worked up, ya tosser?!"

Peter felt his last dregs of patience snapping as he clenched his fists. "Are you _seriously_ asking me that today?" he growled, voice tight and pinched.

Danny stared at him for a moment before a wave of realization washed over his face. But instead of regret or shame, a look of annoyance marred his features as he threw his hands into the air. "Ah, come off it," he muttered before placing his hands on his hips, staring Peter up and down. The teen tried not to squirm under the scrutinizing look, masking his unease with anger as he glared back at the boy in defiance. "There's something else, ain't there?"

Peter sighed harshly. "No, Danny. There isn't. Believe it or not, today's just not my favorite out of the year. I hope you can understand that," he muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms.

The older teen leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. " _Bullshit._ Your mum was dead two years ago. She was dead two months ago. What difference does today make?" He straightened up and began to pace in front of the bed. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again. It's just another day, that's all! You think I remember the day my parents died. No, cause guess what. It's just a day. Nothing more. Just a number, ya dick."

"Fuck you, Danny."

Danny stopped moving at that, head swiveling around to stare down at Peter. For a moment, he wondered if the boy was gonna rush him. Danny never had before, but he wasn't about to put anything past him. The street kid wasn't exactly the safest to be around and he certainly wasn't one for controlling his impulses, especially when he was angry.

But instead, he simply folded his arms over his chest, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. "There _is_ something more, isn't there?" Peter opened his mouth to refute him, only for Danny to speak first. "I've seen you get narked. I've seen you get upset. You're... _angry_. You don't get angry today. You get sad, quiet. Not angry." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you angry?"

Peter didn't say anything, staring tersely at him before ducking his head to glare at the headboard of his bed. "Leave it alone, man," he growled in a low voice, trying to ignore the slight waver to the words.

"Something happened, bruv. Something to get you all pissy and foul, huh?" He leaned closer, gesturing to the door. "What? _They_ do something? They don't mess with ya today. What is it?"

"Nothing, Danny! Just drop it." He fisted the bedsheets to keep his hands from shaking.

"Tell me why you're angry. Tell me what's making you so angry. What happened that's got you so frazzled?" He reached forward and pushed Peter's chest with both hands, causing the teen to lurch to his feet in defense. "What? Daddy forget to kiss you goodbye tonight?"

Peter gritted his teeth, forcing his arms to stay by his sides. He could feel a growing heat working its way onto his face, thawing out the numbing ice that had been encrusting his limbs for hours now. "I'm warning you, man. Shut the fuck up."

"Tell me, Peter."

"No."

"What happened?"

"Nothing! Stop it!"

"Tell me! Tell me what's wrong with you!"

" _Everything,_ okay?!" he screamed, shoving his hands into Danny's chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Peter advanced, getting right into the boy's face. "I can't stand up to my family, I can't talk to my friends, I can't ask for help or I'll end up getting someone killed, the one person I really _can_ talk to is a homeless kid who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone other than himself and the only other person that could have actually helped me I _push away_! What _isn't_ wrong with me, Danny?!" Peter sucked in a shaky breath, blinking away the stinging sensation that filled his eyes. It took him a second to register the feeling in his chest. It wasn't cold, it was...tingling, odd. He didn't know what it was, but anything was better than the cold.

He dragged his gaze over to Danny, a familiar weight of guilt sinking into his stomach as he stared at the boy on the floor. Peter bit his lip and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I...I'm-

"Don't apologize."

Danny didn't get up from the floor. He simply pushed himself up into a sitting position and scooted back so that he was leaning up against Peter's desk. "I know an explosion waiting to happen when I see one, cuz. Better for you to do it here while we're alone than with your family."

Peter blinked at him, watching as the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He blew out a small sigh and crouched down to sit on the floor as well, resting his head against the lip of his bed. "Thanks..." he murmured softly.

Danny nodded, tapping out a cigarette and popping it between his lips before extending the packet to Peter. "Fag?"

He shook his head, the older teen retracting the pack and shoving it back in his pocket before pulling out a lighter. "You know, I should have guessed. Only Stark can make you go this bonkers, mate," he flicked the lighter open and lit the bud.

Peter tilted his head away, stuffing his hands into the jacket. "Just leave it alone, Danny."

"Nah. You say I'm the only person you can talk to, then fucking talk. Go on, spit it out if ya got so much to say."

The smell of smoke slowly began to fill the room, a pungent, biting fume that seemed to thicken the already terse air. Peter watched Danny fiddle with the cigarette, rolling it around on his teeth before pulling it away from his mouth and puffing out another ring. The teen didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, simply resting a hand on his knee as he fiddled with the bud.

Peter's lungs burned, as if the smoke was being blown directly down his throat, burning his tongue a crisp black. It was a welcome departure from the icy chill that had staked a claim on him. Any feeling was better than nothing at all, Peter found in times like this. So with that, the teen let loose a small smile as he brushed his hair back.

"You know...every time this day comes - from one year to the next - I think to myself... _next year...next year will be better. Next year, things are going to look up_." He traced the lines on his palm, digging in slightly with his nail with a small pinch as it nicked the skin. He could feel his hands again. That was good, at least.

"I know it's a lie. I know it's not true, nothing's gonna chance, _hasn't_ changed in the past ten years. But...I still say it. I say it because...because I don't have anything else. All I have is that lie, that... _hope_ that something's gonna change. And without that...w-without that...there's nothing."

Danny blew out another plume. It burned Peter's eyes.

"But you wanna know something... _really_ strange?"

"Tell me."

Peter glanced up at the starless ceiling, imagined he was counting them again, counting them so he could sleep...sleep and dream. "For a little while there, I actually thought this year...it might not be such a lie." He tore his eyes away, but the dreams remained.

"I used to have these dreams...when I was little. The Avengers had just saved New York City. They were everywhere, every kid's fantasy to meet them. I used to imagine they'd come. They'd come and they'd...I don't know, they'd... _fix_ things." He paused, lifted his eyes. "You ever have dreams like that?"

Danny tightened his lips, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. "I think everyone has dreams like that."

Peter sighed. "I hadn't had one in so long...hadn't _thought_ of the Avengers for so long and then all of a sudden Iron Man is coming to me asking for _my_ help? It...wasn't what I'd imagined, but...it was real, the first real thing that had happened in so long, I just...I wondered if _this_ was what I'd been waiting for all those years, if _this_ was the change I'd been hoping for."

Another smoke ring. "And...what happened?"

The teen scoffed. "What do you _think_ happened? Everything went to shit, as usual."

Danny cocked a brow. "He flake on you?"

"No! No, no. It wasn't him. At least...I don't think. I, ugg..." Peter buried his face in his hands. "I don't even know anymore, Danny."

The older teen sat up, face hardening. "Alright, alright, don't get yourself into a tizzy again. Come on," he pressed. "Explain it."

Peter swallowed hard, an unease prickling sensation trailing down his skin at the sound of a direct order. Then again, Danny never was one to beat around the bush. He hesitated for a moment, picking at the numerous scratches and scars that littered his hand, like he'd been playing in shards of glass since he was a toddler. They varied in sizes, shapes, colors, an arts-and-crafts project on his skin.

"He...he started asking questions, questions I don't have any answers to...at least, no _good_ answers."

Danny narrowed his eyes in thought. "He's not the first person to ask questions. Why was this different?"

"I don't know, it...it just was. It was harder to lie to him, like he could see right through them."

The street rat flicked the bud back and forth from hand to hand. "Well if that's true, then he must know about Dear Ol' Daddy Douche. And from the looks of it," he gestured with his arms around the bedroom. "he hasn't blabbed."

"Yeah, _for now._ How do we know that isn't gonna change?" Peter muttered, leaning his cheek against his propped-up fist.

Danny shrugged. "I don't know, cuz. Guy seems like a pretty top-notch fibber. I'm sure he could keep a secret or two."

"Can I really afford to chance it, though?" he murmured softly, glancing down at the floor. Another roll of thunder sounded from outside, merely a murmur compared to the roaring that had erupted last night. A familiar gnawing guilt worked its way into Peter's stomach, a feeling the teen knew he'd have to get used to.

(There was plenty for him to feel guilty about.)

"It's not just that. He...he worries about me."

The older teen scrunched his face up. "Okayyy?"

Peter leaned forward. "He _shouldn't!_ You don't know the kind of stuff he's dealing with!"

"No more islands for him to buy?"

"I mean it, Danny," he growled with a pointed glare. "I, of all people, should know money doesn't make you happy."

"Try living without it."

The teen relented at the withered look Peter shot him, holding up his hands in surrender. The younger let out another sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I saw how much stress he's under. The Accords, the Rogue Avengers, apparently it's a lot more serious than what the news has been saying." Peter clenched his hands together, willing them still.

_("You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?")_

He shut his eyes. "He's...he's struggling and I'm doing him no favors, dragging all my crap along with me."

Danny sat up an inch. "That's not your fault, though. He _chose_ you."

"Come on, Danny." Peter tossed his hands up in frustration before gesturing at the room. "He couldn't possibly have known that I'd come with all of _this! I_ f he'd known, he never would have considered it."

_("He's already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?")_

"I...I'll only make things worse for him. So I...I'm cutting ties."

A fresh wave of ice settled on his chest. Peter didn't try to fight it this time.

Danny, however, didn't seem to be as resigned to the role as he leaned in closer, face filling with an unreadable expression. "Seriously?"

"It's what's best for him."

Danny folded his arms. "Uh-huh. And what about what's best for _you?"_

_("I'm not gonna...punish you or whatever just for saying what's on your mind.)_

_(Don't be afraid to talk to me, aright? I'll listen. I might not be good at it, but I'll try.")_

_("Silver linings.")_

_("Forget the starvation. This right here is what's gonna do you in!")_

_("Nerd tournament, huh? I'll see if I can squeeze it in.")_

_("To Stage 5!")_

_(Peter, please stay. Just...just talk to me.")_

_("We can work through this together, kid!")_

_("Peter...trust me.")_

His hands were growing cold again. "He's a threat."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "So am I. So is Ned and MJ and May and anyone else who doesn't fall for your lies. What's one more?"

Peter shook his head. "He's different! He's one of the most powerful men in the world. If May or my friends ever spoke up, it would get buried, swept up as nothing but rumor. If _he_ speaks up...people will listen."

The older teen paused for a moment, glancing down at the cigarette. "And yet...being one of the most powerful men in the world, you still managed to wrap him around your little finger in, what? Less than two months?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "What...w-what are you talkin-"

"Are there any _other_ billionaires taking their interns out to lunch, or watching their Decathlon tournaments?" At Peter's pointed stare, Danny merely shrugged his shoulders. "I read the news."

Peter felt a plume of annoyance billowing out, mingling with the smoke already filling the air. "He's dangerous," he ground out, confused as to why Danny was so hung up on this. Why couldn't he just let it go. His decision was made!

"Why? Cause he has the _power_ to be?" Danny huffed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, a trail of gray smoke following his movements. "Pete, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. Why are you so sure you _have_ to see him as a threat? Cause to me, it sounds like he'd be a valuable player on your team?"

The teen scrunched his face. "My _team?"_

"You know, your support system. May, Ned, MJ, all those jags. Lord knows it's pitifully small right now. Could use some billion dollar steroids." At the way Peter scoffed and glanced away, Danny bobbed his shoulders and popped the cig back in his mouth. "All I'm saying is that you started acting real different after you met him."

"Yeah, I know. That's the problem."

"Is it? Cause I must say, I rather enjoyed the new Peter Parker more than the old one."

Peter reared back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You were...happier. Seemed to be more confident. Hell, i can't remember the last time you yelled at me before that night on the roof, when you were standing up for a guy you barely knew. He _definitely_ made a difference in you." He paused, giving Peter a hard stare. "Are you so sure it was a bad one?"

The younger boy blew out a sudden breath, incredulous look on his face as he narrowed his eyes. "Why...why do you care so much? In case you forgot, I was yelling because you were ragging on him, saying I shouldn't trust him. Why are you changing your mind all of a sudden? Why do you care?"

_("God, why can't you just GIVE UP?!")_

Danny shrugged, a wave of indifference washing over his body as his posture slackened. "I don't," he muttered, puffing out another ring of smoke before leveling Peter a pointed glare. "But I think it's stupid of you to throw away something this good over something so stupid. Do you know how many people, how many kids would _kill_ to have such a powerful ally? Are you seriously going to give it up just because you're - what? Scared? Give me a break!"

Peter clenched his fists together, indignation flaring in his gut as he faced off against the teen. "You don't get it, Danny," he ground out. "It's not just that. My dad...he has plans, plans that he's gonna use me for. I..." he faltered, glancing down at his hands, flexing his fingers and brushing them up against his palms. "I can't disobey him...but I can't hurt Mr. Stark, either. It's...it's not fair to him. He's gonna try and protect me, just like mom, just like Ben. And it's going to get him _killed!"_

He pressed his palms into his eyes, colorful dots blinking before him at the added pressure. He could feel himself getting worked up again, a growing thrumming in the back of his head, a steady pulsing that made his body tense and his stomach churn. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep, just sleep for a hundred years, sleep and pray he'd wake up to a different life.

. . .

"So...why don't _you_ protect _him?"_

Peter blinked open his eyes, slowly lowering his palms away from his face. He furrowed his brow and parted his lips. "W-what?"

Danny stared at him for a second of silence before sighing, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and rubbing the tip of it against the back of Peter's desk, effectively putting it out. "Face it, Pete. You couldn't save your mum or that neighbor of yours. You couldn't. You weren't strong enough. That's fact. They would have died either way so there's no point bemoaning it."

Peter glanced away, images of his dream flashing before his eyes. His mom, Ben, the butterflies, butterflies in his stomach, butterflies crawling down his throat, across his skin. He scratched at his arm, as if he could still feel them. Danny reached forward and lightly pushed Peter's shoulder, getting him to look over once more. "Look, you couldn't do anything back then, I get it. But things are different now." He waved a hand in the air. "You're Spider-Man. If anyone can keep a superhero safe, chances are it's gonna be _another_ superhero."

He folded his arms and cocked a brow. "So, if he's gonna be so busy protecting you, then...why don't you protect _him?"_

Peter said nothing. He couldn't, there was nothing to say. He blinked and glanced down, eyes flitting back and forth across the room as his thoughts raced.

 _Spider-Man_...

He looked down, looked over towards the underside of his bed. He reached over and lightly brushed his fingers against the edge of his suit, the answer he'd been ignoring all this time. And for the first time in forever, Peter stared down at the suit and began to feel something other than guilt.

_(Why couldn't Spider-Man save them?)_

Guilt that had been pushing him to do such good deeds, going out for hours upon hours, searching for people who needed help, people who needed him, people who deserved to see another day, people who could _maybe_ make up for the two he _hadn't_ saved.

Peter truly did remember the dreams, dreams of the Avengers. And he remembered the day he'd stopped having them. _("We're calling it the Terrarium.")_ He remembered how it had felt, the realization that nobody was coming for him, that there was nobody to protect him now. And that anybody who tried always suffered for it.

But maybe...maybe the point wasn't protection for himself, it was protection for others, the very ideal Spider-Man stood for.

He was Spider-Man for a reason. He had a duty to fulfill, a responsibility to uphold. Spider-Man wasn't for _him,_ it was for those around him! He was the one to take the bullet, to stand in the way of the blow, to take the hits and the kicks and the chains and the butterflies. He had to. He was there for a reason. He was there and his mom wasn't, Ben wasn't and there had to be a reason for it. He had to be alive for a reason!

Maybe this was it.

Danny scratched the back of his neck and yawned, glancing over towards the balcony doors. "I should be off."

The younger jolted back into reality at the words, turning to stare out at the stretch of sky just outside the doors. "It's still raining," he murmured softly, worried his friend somehow felt unwanted. Despite their terseness, Peter didn't want to just throw him out into the freezing rain.

Danny, however, merely shrugged it off, opening the balcony doors slightly. "Eh, it's lightening up. Besides, I'd rather not tussle it out with those wankers fighting to rush the subways once this rain passes up." he said causally. Peter peered over his friend's shoulder and realized he was right. While they were arguing, he hadn't even noticed that the rain had backed off slightly, lightening for the first time in _hours_. He could still hear it though, the soft _pattering_ of the droplets splashing down into puddles on the balcony floor.

Peter watched the older teen make for the door. However, just as he placed his hands on the handles and was about to walk out, he stopped and turned back around. His face held a sobering look. "Look, mate." he sighed, seeming to hesitate for just a moment before shaking his head. "Bad things happen. That's just life. Bad things happen to good people and you can't do anything to change that. There's no nitpicking, no karma. It's just who's jammy and who gets the shaft. And you're in the business of getting snookered."

"Dude, speak English."

He rolled his eyes. "You don't have good luck, ya muppet! Things like this don't just... _happen_ to chavs like you and me." He paused, licking his lips and running a hand through his ratty hair. "You have a chance, right in front of you, a chance to change things for yourself. Are you really gonna let it pass you by?"

Peter could feel his stomach lurching from side to side, as if fighting for a solution, an answer he so desperately needed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, desperate to warm them just a tad. "What if it's a bad idea?"

Danny reached behind him and flicked his jacket hoodie up over his head, throwing Peter a smirk.

"Well...maybe you _need_ a bad idea."

With that, Danny pushed through the doors and stepped onto the balcony, climbing up the side railing as he reached for the rooftop to Peter's building before crawling out of sight. Peter could hear his friend's footsteps against the roof before they leapt off the side, landing on the adjacent building before falling further and further away.

The teen stared at the balcony doors, at the rain that was beginning to blow into his room, trickling against the side of the carpet that brushed up against the doors. He didn't get up, though. Didn't try to close the doors. Instead, he just listened. Listened to the rain, to the soft steady drumming of each drop splattering onto the floor, reminded of the sound of rain against metal, the sound of the bay below lapping at the bridge beams, the sound of metal boots landing on the slick, rusted surface.

He listened to the rain, listened to his thoughts. He lifted his head, resting it against the back of his bed once again, and stared up at the lonely white surface above him.

Peter used to have stars on his ceiling.

Maybe he could have them again.

* * *

**Thursday, April 28, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor**

**11:32 p.m.**

Tony opened his eyes to darkness.

For a moment he was confused, briefly wondered if blindness was a side effect to alcohol poisoning before he noticed the lights from the surrounding buildings gleaming against the tower window. The tint was down, most likely FRIDAY's doing.

"What time is it?" His voice was low, coarse from hours of silence. There was some irony in there, he was almost sure of it.

_It's 11:32 PM, Boss. At this time, there are currently 54 missed calls from Ms. Potts, 32 from Colonel Rh-"_

"Mute."

Tony let out a low groan, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. The slight movement made his head shriek in protest, a grinding noise that made his ears ring and dull red spots dance before his eyes. He pulled his lips back in a grimace, body aching as he shifted his muscles and stretched his legs. He must have been sleeping for hours now if the darkness outside was any indication.

He glanced over towards the window, noticed the rain still falling. He scowled and turned away, not even noticing how the rain had lightened up considerably since his last moments of consciousness.

"Is this shit gonna last forever or what?" he muttered to himself, shutting his eyes as he aimlessly patted the floor next to him, searching for the next available bottle to graze his fingers. With a flare of satisfaction, he latched himself onto one and brought it up to his lips, only to realize with a disappointed huff that it was empty. Reluctantly cracking open his eyes again, he glanced around at the other empty bottles littering the floor around him and noticed that they were all in the same condition.

He sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch. For a brief minute, he considered stopping, just sitting there and hopefully catching up on some more sleep. But...no. He could hear it, against the back of his head, crawling down his neck. Whispers, whispers of thoughts, of words and ideas and memories. His mind was sobering. He could hear himself think again.

That wouldn't do.

The comforting haze of emptiness was evaporating, leaving him with nothing but himself. Quickly deciding between the two evils, he decided to chance his body potentially calling it quits on the walk over to the bar for the overwhelmingly worthwhile prize of forgetfulness that came with being black-out drunk.

He stumbled his way over to the bar in record time, only tripping up once or twice on his own feet as his body tried to reboot itself from its ten-ish hours or so of disuse. He vaguely noted the sound of distant rumbling as the rain continued to slide down the glass walls of the tower. Leaning up against the side of the bar, Tony shambled his way over towards the sink.

Turning the faucet, he pooled some water into his hands. He could almost swear he saw steam rising up as it made contact with his hands, could feel the white-hot heat of his skin, feel it bubbling over his bones. At least he could count _one_ constant. Would this just be how things were now, constantly running at a thousand degrees as the years of shit and stress and everything in between coursed through his veins in streaks of fire?

He splashed the water onto his face, grateful for a modicum of relief from the heat as he groaned into his hands. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, feeling the thumping of the migraine in his pulse, in the tips of his skin as the blood rushed.

_(Peter's blood, on his arm, soaking through the bandages, bright and red and-)_

Tony turned around and glared at the wall of liquor, grabbing the first bottle he saw and ripping it from the shelf. The entire structure wobbled at the movement, but he didn't care. He huffed out a breath, the smoke swirling around him as his lungs crisped to a deep black color.

Before he could take more than a couple of steps away from the bar, his eyes were drifting up and his legs were stilling. He couldn't hear the rain anymore, couldn't see it trickling down his windows, for all of his senses were honed in on Peter as he stared right back at him.

The kid was in his suit, a brown leather jacket overtop, and his mask clutched tightly in one hand. He was soaked, dripping water onto the floor in a horrifyingly similar fashion to last night, but he didn't seem to pay it any mind, not even as his hair hung down around his eyes, which were zeroed in on the billionaire before him.

Tony vaguely recalled the rumbling he'd heard before, realizing it hadn't been thunder at all, but the sound of the outdoor pad doors opening as the kid crawled his way in.

For a while, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other as if neither of them truly believed the other was there at all. An illusion, gone in a puff of smoke.

Finally,

"I need to talk to you."

Peter's voice was soft but it seemed to echo off of the walls, bouncing all around Tony's head.

He thrummed his fingers against the bottle. "Didn't we say everything we needed to last night?"

"No."

"No?" Tony scoffed. "What, you leave something out? Figured we covered all our bases: regret, despair, hopelessness, maybe a bit of anxiety thrown around in that mess. Am I getting everything? Maybe the thunder drowned out some bits." He noticed Peter wasn't fidgeting like usual. He was just standing stoically, an air of calm around him that wasn't usually there. The kid was _usually_ bouncing off the walls either in excitement or just plain nervousness. Now he was...different, off.

"Mr. Stark, listen-"

"Listen?" He took a step forward. Peter didn't take his eyes off of him. "I _did_ listen, kid. I listened for half an hour freezing my ass off while 300 feet in the air in the middle of a goddamn hurricane." He noticed the kid's face twitch slightly at that, perhaps out of guilt. Tony narrowed his eyes. "I listened, and you know what I heard?" He stopped, glanced down at the bottle in his hands, watched the liquid slosh back and forth against the glass walls. "The truth."

Peter's face _did_ change at that, brows knitting together and eyes squinting. "What?"

Tony started walking again. He stepped off of the raised platform that led to the kitchen and began to make his way back over to the windows, leaning up against the back of the couch. Peter still didn't move, just watched.

"You said you needed some time to think. Well, I went ahead and took a page out of your book and I realized something." He pointed a finger at the teen. "You...were one hundred percent correct. This..." He shook his head and gestured around at their surroundings. "...all of this was such a bad idea. From the very beginning I knew it was a bad idea and I _still_ went along with it. I guess I just can't help myself from making messes, so much so that I gotta seek them out!"

Peter's face scrunched into something akin to frustration. "You...you didn't mess this up. _I_ did."

"You don't get it, kid. I messed this up by taking you on in the first place! I thought it was to help you but...it was just to help myself." Tony glared down at the bottle, itching to pop it open and start drinking it right now, if only to quench the burning sensation wrapping around his throat. "I was using you, kid. I...I didn't want to believe it, but I can't just ignore it anymore. You were a distraction...to keep my focus away from the things I didn't want to deal with."

Tony glanced down, spying the array of empty bottles that lay scattered around the floor.

"This _is_ my mess."

The teen didn't say anything at that, leaving the soft noise of the pattering rain outside as the only reprieve from the silence that grew thick and heavy around them, a suffocating mass that hovered around their heads.

Tony sighed before turning his head to glance back at the kid, eyes sharp. "What are you even doing here?"

"I already said. We need to talk."

Tony huffed out a humorless laugh as he shook his head and leveled the kid a hard look. "Talk? Peter, there's nothing to talk about! My mind's made up!"

Peter took a small breath. "No it isn't."

The billionaire raised his head at the kid's response, or more at the fact that he'd had a response _at all_. Peter was talking back? _Peter Parker_ was talking back to _him_?

"Wha-"

"If it was you wouldn't be drinking."

Instantly, Tony was straightening up. He had to take a second to make sure what he'd heard was correct before he felt himself take a step closer, body tensing as a wave of crackling heat flooded through his system, a bubbling anger that was beginning to surface, hot and impatient after months of stress.

"Excuse me?" His voice was low, his tone sharp.

Peter glanced away at that, seemingly unsure for the first time since arriving. But the boy surprisingly didn't back down, not even at the obvious anger beginning to show on the billionaire's stoic face. The teen glanced down at the bottles, maybe just to avoid meeting the man's eyes. "You're unsure, conflicted. That's why you're drinking. It's too loud, too much noise...and this helps you quiet it."

Tony could feel something, hot and thick, coursing through his veins. He couldn't get angry. He couldn't yell. But the surging fire crackling in his gut willed his legs forward, eyes blazing as he approached. "Hey, I- no, no, no. We're not doing this." He snapped, clenching one fist behind his back in an attempt to keep his voice level while the other hand pointed a finger at the... _brat_ in front of him! "You don't get to just _barge_ in here after that little stunt last night and parade around like you own the place, alright? And you certainly don't get to talk about things that don't concern you in the slightest!"

Did this kid know how much he'd gone through in the last few months...just for him? The stress and the shit that he'd had to take and now he had the gall to disrespect him like this?

Peter took a step back at the man's advance, but he didn't back down. The teen clenched his own fists, but kept his eyes trained on the floor. "I just think-"

"I don't give a _shit_ what you think!" It was too hot. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you not understanding, Peter? We're _done_ here! This little...whatever it was, is over. I don't have time to be dealing with you anymore so why don't you just swing your little butt out of here before you say anything else to piss me off?" He forced his mouth shut, locking his jaw as he raised a hand to pinch his eyes. His head was pounding, a steady humming beat he could feel in his fingertips. He had to end this. He had to do what he should have done months ago.

"Look, you did me a solid in Germany,

_(Meet the kid.)_

"I did you one in return by way of the suit.

_(Help the kid.)_

"Our transaction is over. We can now officially part ways."

_(Forget the kid.)_

"But just so you know, _this_ has got nothing to do with you." He gestured to the bottle clenched so tightly in his hand he was certain the glass was going to shatter into splinters right there in his palm. Peter flinched back slightly as Tony leaned closer to him, but he didn't back away. Instead, his face was tight, jaw clenched and hands fisted at his sides.

"See, you don't get to just pretend that you have some... _wise_ insight into how I work just because we spent a few months doing stupid shit together, alright? Because that's all it was."

He couldn't breathe. There was too much smoke.

"The fact of the matter, Peter, is that you don't know _anything_ about me."

Tony had to turn away at that, had to steady himself as he felt his last remaining wills slipping right through his fingers like ash in the wind. He had to leave, had to get out of there before he did something, _said_ something he was going to regret. He had to get away...for Peter's sake.

He began to walk, each step heavier than the last, more _final._ He had to be leaving scorch marks in the flooring, deep black smears, impossible to get out. He had to get out. He had to breathe. He was burning alive.

. . .

"You can't sleep in the dark."

_Keepwalkingkeepwalkingkeepwalkingkeep-_

His feet stopped.

"What?"

Peter didn't say anything at first, glancing down at his mask for a moment. Tony finally turned back around and their eyes met. The kid blinked at him. "I know you probably don't sleep much as it is but...when you do, you can't sleep in the dark."

Tony opened his mouth. No words came out. His fingers twitched against the bottle, a soft _tapping_ noise, like water droplets in a puddle.

"You need a light...don't you?"

A soft rumble sounded from outside, distant, faint. Tony could barely hear it.

"I read about what happened to you in Afghanistan. The reports didn't go into much detail cause _you_ didn't back then but...I can guess." The kid's voice was soft, quiet. It quivered slightly, a fragile thing that teetered on the edge of silence. "It was dark, wasn't it...where they kept you? Dark and empty and cold and...everything you imagine in nightmares, everything you feel when you're alone...those feelings you can't explain, they're just there."

Tony stared at him, lips parted for words that still didn't come. He could hear his heart beating, loud and fast in his ears. His fingers tightened. The bottle creaked.

"And then 2012...the wormhole? Space is the darkest thing in existence. And you saw it...you were _in_ it." Peter blinked, his eyes glossy and his breathing quick. He scrunched his face, tightening his grip on the mask. "You don't sleep cause when you sleep you dream and you can't _have_ those dreams if you never sleep. But it's not just that. It..." He shut his eyes, voice pinched. "It's just...so _dark_ in the room, isn't it? And you feel it again, that...that _feeling_ that sucks the air right out of your lungs and leaves you speechless, leaves you vulnerable, _exposed_."

 _Exposed_ , like his chest, like his beating heart as he lay on that slab of rock, a car battery hooked into his skin, stabbing into his muscles.

And...and the lights, they just...make that feeling go away. They m...they make you feel safe, remind you that...that you aren't back there."

Tony distantly registered the sound of glass shattering. He didn't bother to look down at his hand or at the bloody scratches now adorning his wet fingertips.

Peter opened his eyes again, drifted his gaze down to the noise before lifting them back up and sucked in a shaky breath. "You don't sleep...but when you do, you need that light. Because you're afraid that if you...if you close your eyes...you're gonna wake up back in that cave, back in that hole in the sky, with nothing...nobody... _afraid."_

Tony tried to swallow but his throat was too tight. He tried to clench his fists but the blood on his hand was too slippery. He blinked, willing the images and the memories away, but they stayed.

He could smell sweat and sand and salt all mingling together in a blast of hot air that threatened to rub the skin right off his face, feel the tug of wires in his chest, poking and prodding around his ribs, pulling back muscle, metal scraping up against his heart. He could hear the echoing silence as he flew into the wormhole, a blanket of nothing that enveloped him, the sight of so many dangers lurking above their heads, lurking and waiting and ready to attack at a moment's notice and nothing to do but wait and wait and pray that they would be ready and they would be enough but they aren't enough and they would lose everything and everything would burn and he would burn and there would be nothing left but ash and smoke just ashes and ashes and ashes and-

Tony jumped, a startled gasp falling from his lips as he felt something touch his hand. He glanced down and noticed that Peter was holding his damaged hand in his own palm, pressing a clean towel into the numerous nicks. The kid's hands...they were cold, frigid, even with the suit. Peter lifted his head, lifted his bright brown eyes and met Tony's gaze and suddenly the images were fading, the memories were fading, the heat...was fading. All he could feel was the cold touch of Peter's hands.

He sucked in a breath, a soft little gasp that was really all he could manage. "How...?"

Peter seemed to understand his question even with the bare whisper of a single word. He lifted the towel slightly off of the man's palm, exposing the numerous scratches in the skin. "It was dark...the night she died." He didn't look up, just pinched his lithe fingers around a small shard of glass sticking out of Tony's palm. "That much I can't forget." He removed it gently, Tony barely even felt it. It clattered to the floor with a soft _plink_ and the towel was being pressed down again. Peter looked up. "Mr. Stark, I don't know what it's like to be you...but I know what it's like to be afraid."

He looped the ends of the towel around the underside of the man's hand, creating a makeshift bind out of the cloth and securing it to the palm.

"In that way, we _are_ the same."

The kid didn't say anything more after that. Instead, he bent down onto his knees and grabbed another towel - most likely one he'd gotten while retrieving the other - placing it on top of the puddle of alcohol pooling onto the floor. Once that was secure, he cupped one hand and began to trail his fingers along the floor, picking up any shards of glass that he could see.

Tony stood and watched him, watched the kid quietly cleaning up the mess he'd made, literally on his hands and knees just to help him. It was strange, not feeling the familiar burning sensation he'd been growing used to. Like lave cooling over rocks, it was hard, a crusted layer of earth that seemed to rub his skin the wrong way, an uncomfortable emptiness that opened in the pit of his stomach. But he wasn't hot. His hands weren't burning. They were bleeding...but they weren't burning.

He reached over, brushed his fingers up against the cloth wrapped around his hand. Suddenly he found himself kneeling down across from the kid. Peter lifted his eyes to gaze at him before going back to his work. Tony didn't say anything as he began to gather up small little fragments, brushing them off to the side. For a brief moment, as the silence overtook them once more, the two of them could almost pretend things were back to normal and that they were just working in the lab, tinkering away or writing up new prints. A week ago, the silence had been a comfort. Now...

"Before Afghanistan...before the cave...I didn't have anyone."

He owed it to Peter to fill it.

"I had everything, _could_ have anyone, but I didn't. 38 years of...nothing. Then the suit. Bad guys. Aliens. Super soldiers. It all culminated with that team."

Peter stared at him, shifted his own little glass pile off to join Tony's. "The Avengers."

Tony let a faded smile creep onto his face as he leaned back on the floor, resting one hand on his knee. " _Avengers._ You know, I never asked Nick where he got that name. Knowing him, it probably came off the back of a super secret spy cereal box or something." It was weird cracking jokes again. He supposed he couldn't help to fill the uncomfortable air with something stupid. Made the weight of the words easier to bear. He hoped Peter understood.

"You know, Cap and I...gosh, we really butted heads when we first met."

"Really?" Peter's voice was quiet again. It was never really loud, just...firm, even. Now it was back to its usual soft demeanor, a gentle little lull of sound.

Tony rubbed at his forehead. "Yeah. You know, I'd been hearing about the guy my entire life. My dad never shut up about him, always reminiscing about his old war buddy, the best guy he'd ever known. It was a lot to live up to, especially since he never stopped looking for him. He was...let's just say, we had our issues. So when the guy who practically kept my dad out of the picture just shows up out of the blue...I'm already not a very good team player so throw that into the mix and you're looking at an interesting development."

He gave a small shake of his head, casting a glance over towards the windows. Still raining. "God, I hated him. It wasn't even his fault and that just made me hate him even more."

"Did...did that change?" Peter asked, shifting his position on the floor so that he was now sitting cross-legged, hands resting in his lap.

Tony glanced back over. "Yeah, it did. Everything changed after that. I mean, aliens. Come on. But, I always thought of that team as the one _good_ thing that came of it all, you know? That maybe...maybe this would finally be that _something_ I'd been missing. And Cap...Steve, god. He made it so hard to hate him. He was just so _ridiculously_ righteous."

He paused, hearing words he hadn't planned on saying, thoughts he hadn't planned on voicing. But if anyone was going to hear them, it might as well be the kid who could _maybe_ understand. _He_ couldn't even understand.

"He was...he was a good guy, though. They all were."

"Then why did they leave?" Peter muttered, a discernable note of anger flickering onto his face. "If they were so good, why did they leave you behind to clean their messes?"

_Cause I'm the mess they didn't want to deal with anymore._

"It's complicated. Fact of the matter is that they're gone. They gave up." Tony blew out a small huff. "Maybe that's why I used you, Peter. I just...didn't want to listen to the silence anymore."

Didn't want to think about how the thing they gave up on was _him_.

Peter glanced down at his hands. "You didn't want to be alone."

Tony removed the towel from his palm, noting each and every new scratch adorning his fingers. "Maybe," he murmured, a strange sense settling in his chest as he finally admitted it, like a balloon releasing the water trapped inside, dousing whatever fires had been burning underneath. Suddenly feeling cramped in the dark space of the room, Tony rose up to his feet and glanced over toward the windows, to the lights just outside the glass.

Peter followed as the man made his way over, Tony plopping down onto the floor once more. He scooted back until he was pressed up against the back of the couch, now fully facing the glass panels of the back wall. Peter didn't sit down. Tony didn't turn to him.

"Do you want me to leave?"

The man sighed. He watched the rain sliding down the glass. "No. I just...I don't get it, kid. Why did you come back? What changed?"

"I did. Two months ago." Peter slid his way down to the floor. "But if you're talking more recent...let's just say I got some friendly advice from a not so friendly guy." At Tony's pointed look, the teen shook his head and waved his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"So, what? You just...completely changed your mind?"

"Not exactly. Look, Mr. Stark...everything I said before is still true. When I'm with you, I change." He glanced down at his hands. "I don't like change. But...I think I'm starting to get used to it. With you, I...I _like_ who I change into. It makes me feel like Spider-Man all the time, just without the mask."

The rain was soft, nothing like the roaring monster it had been before. Tony didn't mind it as much like this.

"I'm tired of being in the dark all the time. But with you...it's like the _flood lights_ are on, shining through my window." The teen's eyes scrunched ever so slightly. He still didn't lift his gaze, just kept them locked on his hands. "I feel something. I feel... _safe_."

Tony didn't respond, didn't let the fact that ' _safe'_ was a foreign concept to the kid show on his face. He just kept watching the rain.

"I said I needed time to think, and so I thought. And I realized something. I...I realized I don't want to lose this." This time Peter _did_ turn, lifted his eyes towards the man next to him. Tony glanced over as the kid spoke. "I'm scared, Mr. Stark. I said it before and I'm still scared now. I've never had something like this before. I've never had someone like _you_ before, someone to...look out for me. I don't know how any of this works, I don't know how any of this _will_ work. I don't even know if it's a good idea-"

"I know. It isn't."

Peter ignored the man's comment and continued. "But I still want to do this." His eyes hardened, narrowing ever so slightly. "I don't...I-I don't care what anybody else says. For _once,_ I want to be selfish, think about _myself_ for a change, not the Cons, not my dad." His voice was tight, not as calm as earlier. A new shaky element edged on his words, but Tony still heard them clear as day.

"So if...if I can be brave enough to do this, then...then maybe you can, too."

Tony continued to stare at him, letting the kid's words wash over him. _Brave..._ What was the brave thing to do in this situation? What was the _right_ thing to do? He scanned his eyes over the kid's face, tried not to notice the pleading look adorning his features. He could still picture the scars, the bright, red, angry lines that had slashed across the kid's face on Monday. How could he forget them? They were burned into his mind, another blister in the mess of millions.

"Am I just supposed to be _okay_ with letting you go back to that house every single day knowing what I know now?" He noticed the slight waver in his voice.

Peter was the one to glance out the window at that, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as an air of exhaustion seemed to wash over him. "We don't have much of a choice, Mr. Stark. I...I can't go to the police. I just can't. I know it must be hard for you to understand, but it's important to me," he said softly.

Tony shook his head, face pinched as he exhaled loudly. "Even if I _was_ okay with that, it still doesn't change the fact that I'm in this for the wrong reasons, kid." Peter turned to look at him. "I'm not the hero you think I am. I used you." The words were bitter, but he had to say them, had to get the kid to understand. "You were just distracting me."

"And _you_ were distracting _me!_ " Peter shot back, eyes narrowing as he turned to fully face the billionaire, leaning closer as he spoke. "Wasn't that the plan? Wasn't that what you were trying to do all along? Get me to focus on something other than my dad?" He scoffed and tossed his hands into the air. "What's so wrong with wanting the same, Mr. Stark?"

He didn't get it. Why couldn't this kid just _understand?_

Tony clenched his fists as he felt the telltale burning sensation beginning to build back up in his fingers once more. He shut his eyes, hoped he didn't see them start to char again. "Kid...I'm going to hurt you." He could sense Peter tense at that, hated how he could literally _feel_ the kid's anxiety spiking, but he had to get it through his head. He had to make the kid see for himself why this would never work.

"You said it yourself, I'm a wild card." He blew out a harsh breath. "I'm asking you to trust me when I shouldn't even trust myself! Hell, look around you, kid! does this look like a responsible adult to you?"

Peter's lips curled into a sneer as he snarled. "I've been surrounded by _'responsible'_ adults for all my life and not one of them has ever given a _shit_ about me." His voice was harsh, a biting sting that was so different from his usual soft-spoken manner that Tony literally reared back at the sound of it. The kid took a breath, sucking it in slow and letting it out smoothly before lifting his eyes back up. "You can't do any worse than them."

The teen glanced away for a second, face scrunching in thought as his brows knitted together. He turned back, eyes filling with a familiar gleam of hazel-brown light. When he spoke again, his voice was back to its soft murmur. But Tony listened to each word as if they were literally being screamed in his ear.

"Mr. Stark...your life sounds really difficult. Trust me, if anybody's gonna be a good judge of that, it's me. And...and I understand that you wanted to help me, it's natural. It just proves how good of a person you are because you didn't have to do this, any of this." The kid smiled, a sight Tony had sorely missed. "You _are_ a hero, to me at least. I know that probably doesn't mean much. But if I can repay it by taking your mind off of some of the heavier stuff, then whatever! It's mutualism."

Peter grimaced slightly at that and rubbed at his neck. "Biology's not really my strongest suit but just hear me out. _I_ benefit by spending less time around the Cons and more time with people who _don't_ make me want to drown myself in the sink and _you_ get some time away from all the political crap. You...you don't have to think about the Avengers. We _both_ win."

The kid leaned closer, teeming with nervous energy as a growing sense of desperation seemed to enter his voice. "It...it doesn't have to be difficult. Look, we can just...we can just forget this whole week ever happened!"

A sickening sense of dread entered Tony's stomach, the same he'd been feeling all week, all month, from the first day he'd met the kid.

"The park, the bridge, all of it! I'll never bring up my dad, I'll get better as covering up the bandages, _you_ look the other way"

He curled his fingers, fists shaking at his sides at the kid's words.

It's perfect! Plausible deniability! Then we can just go back to how thing were before!"

_(Blood on his forearm, dripping onto his lab floor.)_

_(Collapsing to the ground from sheer starvation.)_

_(Screaming and crying and begging Tony to let it go, to look the other way, to forget about it, forget, forget, forget, forget-)_

But Tony couldn't forget.

"Peter, I don't _want_ things to go back to how they were!" He finally screamed, his voice echoing off of the walls of the room, bouncing and hovering over their heads before tapering off into silence.

Peter stopped, freezing at the man's words. His face slowly began to crumple as his eyes drifted to the floor. "I...but, I..."

The kid stopped, didn't say anything more. Tony stared at him, stared at the look of rejection beginning to seep onto the kid's face, sucking in whatever hope had been growing in his's voice. The man hesitated, shutting his eyes for a moment as he considered what he was actually about to do, the weight of what he was about to say. But as his eyes drifted to the boy's chest, to the spider symbol in the center, the teen's words echoed in his head.

_Brave._

Could he be brave?

Tony reached over and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, the kid jumping in surprise before lifting his eyes to meet Tony's.

"I...I want them to be better."

The kid blinked at him, eyes wide. "What?"

Tony sighed, removed his hand and dropped it into his lap, leaning back against the couch. "Peter, you might think that whatever we were doing before was fine, but-"

"It was!"

"No, it wasn't." The man's voice was hard, his eyes reflecting the same tone. "It wasn't fine. We were both just...ignoring the bigger problems." He stared down at his hands. Peter watched in silence as the man gently removed the makeshift bind on his palm. The blood had long since stopped, leaving nothing but bright red scratches adorning the skin. Tony narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Peter.

"I want to make a deal."

Immediately, he saw a shift in the kid as Peter tensed, posture tightening as he leaned back slightly, eyes pinching in distrust. "What kind of deal?" he said carefully.

Tony ignored the suspicion in the boy's voice as he lifted his uninjured hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "A crazy one, because I can't believe I'm actually considering _not_ going to the police."

"What? Really?!"

"Hold on. I'm not finished." The man stared at him before letting out another sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck as he felt a particularly painful twinge. He was quickly reminded of why he didn't usually make it a habit of sitting on the floor. "Peter...I want you to be safe, not just _feel_ safe but actually be safe. And I know you're not safe in that house," he murmured soberly.

"I-"

"Don't lie. Not anymore, not to me." Tony paused, taking a second to steel himself. He furrowed his brow, folding his arms over his chest. "You don't want to go to the police? Fine. Then you go to me."

Peter reared back, jaw dropping. "What?!"

"Just...hear me out. From here on out, if...if you're ever scared or hurt or upset or...just want some place to sleep where you don't have to keep one eye open, you come here. Understand me? You come here, you come to _me_ and you tell me what's wrong, the _truth_ about what's wrong. In return..." he took a breath. "In return...I won't tell anybody."

Peter stared at him, lips parted as he tried to process everything that was being thrown at him. Tony tilted his head to the side. "Got any plans for the summer?"

"Umm...no?"

"Good. You're spending it here."

If possible, the teen's eyes grew even wider as he sputtered. "What? I...he would never agree to that!"

"Then I'll make him agree!" Tony shot back, eyes narrowed as he thought of Richard putting up any resistance to his plan. That douchebag wasn't going to stop him now that his mind was made up, that much he could be sure of. "Anything to keep you as far away from them for as long as possible. If that's the best I can do, then that's what's happening. If you won't let the police protect you, then _I_ will!"

He paused, taking in the kid's face to see what his reaction would be. This _did_ sort of hinge on the teen actually _agreeing_ to his plan. Peter didn't say anything at first, face tight and brows furrowed as he stared at the ground, eyes flitting back and forth in thought. Tony stayed silent, decided it would be best to let Peter take this in slowly. Finally, the boy carefully lifted his eyes, voice small.

"You...you don't have to do this..."

"I know. I want to."

"Are you sure you know what you're getting into here? What you're telling me to do? What...what you want to know...you really want everything?"

Tony reached over, carefully rested his hand on the boy's shoulder once more. "No more stories, Peter. Just the truth."

"...even if it's ugly?"

"Better than a beautiful lie."

The teen glanced away. "I'm not so sure about that."

Tony stared at him for a moment longer before realizing the kid wasn't planning on saying anything else. He slowly removed his hand, fingers twitching as he tapped them together. "So?" he called, anxious for the teen's answer.

Peter lifted his eyes, blinked at him in silence. His hands began to pick at the corner of the jacket overtop his suit. Tony decided not to ask about it. One crisis at a time here.

"You're asking me to trust you."

"I am."

"That's not an easy thing for me to do."

"I know. I'm hoping to change that."

'Yeah." Peter's foot bobbed up and down against the floor, a steady rhythm of anxiety. He huffed a small breath, a pant of sorts before he whipped his head around towards the billionaire. "I want you to do it with me." Before Tony could even open his mouth he was continuing. "If I'm going to be telling you my problems, then I want you to tell me about yours. I want to know you're risking just as much as I am."

Tony tried not to let how uneasy the request made him feel show in his body language as he shifted slightly, clearing his throat loudly. "You don't need to worry about my problems, kid."

Peter obviously saw right through that as he narrowed his eyes. "And you don't need to worry about mine yet here we are." The look slowly disappeared from his face, a softer quality melting onto his features. "Nobody else knows how hard it is...to _really_ trust someone. But you do, don't you?"

Tony didn't respond. That seemed to be enough of an answer for the kid.

"You know it's not as easy as everyone makes it out to be. You know how much it can really...damage you. How much of a risk it is, a threat in waiting. So I know you won't take it for granted...will you?"

The man held his gaze. "No. I won't."

Peter sucked in a sharp breath and turned his head away, glancing up towards the ceiling as he muttered something under his breath. "Alright, then. If...if you can trust me, then...then I'll trust you. Or...I'll try, at least." He sheepishly threw the man a small look. "That's the best I got right now."

Tony smiled a different smile from the ones he usually wore. This one didn't hurt. "That's all I'm asking for, kid." He lifted his hand, extending out a palm. "So...deal?"

Peter stared down at the hand for a moment before lifting his own hand. But he didn't extend his palm. Instead, he held out his pinkie finger. Tony blinked at it before glancing up at the kid, a perplexed look on his face. Peter shrugged his shoulder, a smile falling onto his own face. "Just... _trust me."_

The man hesitated for a bit before huffing a small laugh of his own, looping his finger with the kid's. He raised his other hand, pressing it up against his face as he continued to laugh, but it was breathy and ended with a sigh. "Oh, god, kid. This...this is going to be..."

"Interesting." Peter finished, scooting back so that now he was also pressed up against the back of the couch, shoulder nearly touching the other man's as he unfolded his legs and splayed them out in front of him.

Tony scoffed. "That's one word for it." He dragged his hand down so that it was now rubbing at his straining neck. "I know I'm not exactly the best mentor. Hell, I'm not even qualified to _be_ a mentor."

Peter cocked a brow. "Then _don't_. Nobody's asking you to be perfect. _I'm_ not asking you to be perfect cause you're not. You're like _me_. Cause we _both_ don't know what we're doing here." He paused, rubbing his fingers along the seams of the jacket. "And...and I think I'm okay with that now. I think I'm okay with not having all the variables, with...not knowing what comes next cause...at least now I know I'll be doing it with you...together."

He turned to look at Tony as he said so and the man couldn't help but stare at those big brown eyes, full of purity and innocence. How anybody like Peter could still hold such a look in his eyes after going through so much baffled the man. But by God if he could find some way to keep the kid's eyes looking like that, keep them looking so bright and happy and...full of hope, hope that Tony could actually help him, then he would do whatever possible.

"Mentor is a...big word, bigger responsibility." Peter said. "You'll grow into it. But for now...why don't we settle for-"

"Sidekick?"

"I was gonna say ' _partners.'"_ He huffed, elbowing the smirking man in the side. Tony chuckled and elbowed the kid right back. "In crime?"

Peter shrugged. "I mean, I _do_ already have a mask."

They both grinned at that as another wave of silence washed over them. But this wasn't crushing like before. This wasn't freezing cold, or boiling hot, or suffocating. It was...nice, a soft little lull that wrapped them in a comforting quiet. In fact, it took them both a second to realize the silence was really because the rain had stopped.

For the first time since the day previous, the downpour had _finally_ ceased. The clouds were even beginning to part, revealing the bright, big, beautiful moon shining right above them, a disk of light that shone down through the windows. And for Tony, a new sense of peace began to spread through him. The tightness in his chest was gone. He took a breath, felt it slowly enter his lungs and leave with no hindrance, no shakiness. He could still feel a warmth underneath his skin, slightly too hot to be comfortable, but manageable.

He could work with this.

Peter felt something similar. The cold numbness was slowly crawling back to the center of his chest, releasing the rest of his limbs from its vice-like grip. It remained, a small little ball of black doubt encrusted with frost, but he could deal with that. There was no ice, no butterflies.

Tony reached over, looped his arm around the kid's shoulder. He could still feel the familiar little jolt underneath his fingertips as the kid flinched, as he'd expected. But what he wasn't expecting was for Peter to slowly lean closer until his cheek gently resting on Tony's shoulder, barely even touching it. But the contact was there, the realization was there.

It was the first time Peter had ever reciprocated contact.

Tony tried not to focus too hard on what it meant. Instead, he just smiled, gave a little pat.

"Thanks, kid."

"For what?"

"...Not giving up on me."

Peter lifted his head for a moment just long enough to meet Tony's gaze. They shared a small little smile before he leaned up against the man once again and the two of them were left to sit together in the silence. There were no words, no politics, no villains, no dreams, no butterflies...just them and the moon and the light.

And that was enough.

* * *

_(Dreams are a weird fucking thing.)_

_(Ask any two people and they'll always give you a different response on what they are, what they mean, what they're supposed to represent. But honestly, anyone who tells you they've figured out the trick to them is full of shit. Nobody really knows how they work, not even the experts who'll give you some facts about the hippocampus or some repressed trauma or other crap. Fact of the matter is that dreams are just proof that our brains are fucking insane, the bare blatant craziness that makes us who we are, the parts we try to hide from one another day to day, our brains leave them exposed for us to see. And if we could see each other's dreams, see who we really are inside, we'd each see something different - a picture, a little snippet into the mind, a snapshot polaroid of who we are, what we aspire to be, what we hope will come.)_

* * *

Wanda sat up against the wall, wistfully watching trails of red energy pooling around her fingers, illuminating her skin in a hellish glow that leaked onto the walls and cast her shadows as long stretches of black spearing the concrete.

_(Some of them hurt,)_

* * *

Sam rested an elbow on the window ledge, thrumming his fingers against his cheeks as he stared up at the moon, sleep just out of his grasp as it had been every night for the past two months.

_(Some remind you of the things you don't have,)_

* * *

Clint ran his fingers along the edge of the picture, eyes flitting from child to child, making out each and every detail, shutting his eyes for brief moments as he tried to recall each dimple, every freckle and birthmark, quizzing his brain to make sure he couldn't forget, _wouldn't_ forget.

_(The things you've lost,)_

* * *

Scott fiddled with the corners of the scrap of paper, the words _My Hero,_ still discernable despite its age, scrawled over the top of his daughter's drawing, wrinkled and stained but still standing.

_(The things you'll never be.)_

* * *

_(Safe to say, dreams can be a real cruel bitch. But every once in a while, you have to remind yourself that it isn't the same for everybody. You just happen to be one of the unlucky few whose brains find it fun to taunt you in the dead of night with images you can't control.)_

_(Of course, there are others, the lucky ones who don't have to fight against their own minds every second of every day. Privileged bastards.)_

_(Their dreams are much, much different.)_

Natasha stared out at the bay, fingers frozen against the rusted metal railing. She gazed at the light of Stark Tower in the distance, a ghost of a smile on her face as she listened to the soft lapping of the waves washing against the weathered concrete below.

_(Not a picture of the past but a piece of a future within their grasp.)_

* * *

_(Those people find inspiration in their dreams, goals they can envision for themselves. They see their dreams as potential realities, images they can bring to life.)_

Tony stared down at the bottles around his feet, scattered around the now empty penthouse. He sighed, bent down and slowly got to work.

_(Within them they carry that spark of hope.)_

One by one, they found their way into the trash.

_(Hope of change.)_

The liquid gurgled as it poured out of the bottle, quickly spiraling down the drain and out of sight.

_(Hope of a chance. Hope that the world isn't as bleak as the rest of us see it.)_

"FRIDAY, open up a new file for me. Private, not in the mainline servers. Link to the _Parker file_ and triple encrypt."

_"Of course, Boss. What would you like me to title it?"_

_(Hope that the world may become like how they dream it)_

_"_ Evidence."

_(If they just try hard enough.)_

* * *

_(We all have dreams, each and every one of us, whether we deserve them or not. )_

Ned stared down at his phone. No new messages. No responses. He sighed, set it back down on his dresser, and rolled over in bed.

_(Sometimes it's hard to keep them alive, especially when you want them to.)_

* * *

Michelle cursed as her pencil snapped. She lifted it away from her sketch and glared at the dull tip before standing up from her desk. She vaguely noted the time, glanced over at her bed and quickly banished the idea of sleep. She grabbed another pencil from under the desk and silently got back to work.

_(Sometimes it's hard to see them as anything more than fantasy, children's whim.)_

* * *

May turned over onto her side, reaching out with one hand towards the other side of the bed. It was cold. She cracked open her eyes, briefly wondered where he was before reality faded into mind and she shut her eyes. She knew better than to just pretend he was in the bathroom, as she had done for the first few months. Instead, she forced her breathing still and rolled over again.

_(Sometimes you have to walk away, know that if you don't, if you allow yourself to stay in that bed under the covers and force your brain to conjure up those images again, you'll be stuck there forever even after the sun has come up and the oxygen has left your body.)_

* * *

Richard walked along the dimly-lit halls, occasionally casting glances into the rooms lining either side of him. Even through the steel doors, he could hear the screeches and shrieks of the creatures from inside, from the people who had yet to realize they were not getting out of there, from the monstrosities just beyond his reach.

_(Sometimes we want so desperately for them to be real that we drift from the real world into a fantasy and we'll do anything to make it a reality, even if it means tearing down the old world to get it and lighting the way by the burning fires of what you once had.)_

He said nothing. He simply kept walking, turning onto another hallway of the same. One of hundreds.

* * *

_(I've had dreams my whole life, some good, some bad. But they were always there. In a life that's defined by the changes, I guess it's one of the only real constants, so much so, in fact, that I really can't imagine not having them. I've never really been sure if I **want** to have them, but I do and I know there's no changing that. I also know that staying hung up on them is pretty fucking pointless. They come, they go. That's it. Just like my Dad says, just like anything and everyone, they leave.)_

_(Maybe that's a sad thought.)_

_(Maybe that's why I forget sometimes, forget that I'm not supposed to take them seriously. I guess sometimes when they're so good, it's hard not to picture them becoming a reality, hard not to imagine what it would be like if they came true.)_

Peter breathed in the air as he swung through the city, the sharp blasts a welcome relief of adrenaline as he fell and flew past buildings, billboards, roads, trains.

_(I know I'm not supposed to, but every once in a while, when my brain's feeling nice for a change and lets me have a particularly pleasant dream, I imagine it coming true. I imagine the life I'd have.)_

A sense of freedom bloomed in his chest, a warmth that spread all throughout his body as the moonlight illuminated his paths in the sky.

_(And I can see them, see the images growing before my eyes, full of color and warmth, growing and morphing and adapting until they completely overtake life as I know it, changing it into something different, changing **me** into someone else.)_

A tingling sensation in the back of his neck had him veering from his path home.

_(But then my alarm goes off, the sun starts coming up and the chill of my room starts to seep into my skin again. It's like the world outside of my bed can feel me dreaming, can sense my slip-up, and it's angry, angry at my audacity, at my disrespect.)_

_(Doesn't matter anyway. Sooner or later, those dreams fade.)_

The sound of guns going off and loud grunts led him to an alleyway that tapered off underneath one of the subway bridges. The sight of bright flashing lights instantly had his curiosity peaked and his senses alert as he carefully crawled his way along the side of a nearby building. There were about ten of them, all male, all large in stature. The lights were from the guns they were holding, for they were glowing a bright... _purple?_

_(Sooner or later, they dissolve.)_

Upon closer inspection, Peter noticed the group was already fighting someone, a lone man who seemed to be having difficulty defending against the lasers and the explosions emanating from the glowing weaponry.

Quickly realizing he needed to intervene now and question later, Peter swung down and landed in the center of the group, quickly webbing up two of the nearest guys and facing off against the others. However, all of the men froze as he appeared, including the one man who appeared to have been fighting the others.

And as he turned to face him, Peter felt himself freeze up, his heart stopping and his eyes blowing wide as Captain America stared back at him.

_(Sooner or later...we all have to wake up.)_

* * *

**End of Part I**


	23. The Good Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh my god. YOU'RE Spider-Man?"

**Part II**

**Brave New World**

* * *

**Friday - April 29, 2016**

**Queens, NY - Jackson Ave.**

**12:37 AM**

Steve Rogers had really pretty eyes.

Peter knew it was probably a strange fact to get hung up on, but his brain couldn't really seem to process anything else. They were a nice deep sapphire blue around the edges, tapering off into a lighter shade near the center, almost an aqua-green with small little flecks of cyan. They reflected the bright purple of the guns in a brilliant sheen of indigo light.

 _Right_. The guns.

The guys currently wielding them, who he was safely assuming were the bad guys, were staring at him with wide eyes that most likely rivaled his own behind the mask. The guns in their hands crackled with purple energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And Steve Rogers...the guy simply stood there, fists clenched and muscles poised as he held Peter's gaze in nothing but plain civilian clothes.

But it was definitely Steve Rogers. That much Peter was sure of.

The man's mouth parted slightly, pinched look spreading onto his face as his eyes squinted together.

"You're..."

Peter began to squint his eyes too. But not out of concentration. No, the lights around them were getting brighter, the _purple_ lights... _Oh..._

He swiveled his head to the side right as a bright beam of violet energy shot towards him, the blast slamming into the nearby wall and disintegrating the bricks to ash. " _Whoa!_ What the heck-?"

He turned back around just in time to see Captain America slam his elbow into the gut of the shooter, knocking the wind out of him and snatching the gun from his hands.

Peter turned away right as three more blasts whizzed through the air from the encroaching goons.

Quickly clicking his brain into Combat Mode, Peter clenched his fists and felt a surge of adrenaline snaking through his muscles. He crouched down and flipped backwards, the blasts tearing through the ground near his feet. He leapt towards the wall, skittering up it as the shots continued. He could hear the men shouting at each other, most likely about his unplanned appearance.

He continued to scale the wall, leaping away from blasts as they ripped holes in the walls. _What the heck are these things?_ He asked himself as he pushed off the wall and shot into the air, firing a string of webs at the nearest man's feet. He landed on the ground and yanked the webbing back, causing the man to topple to the ground. The gun skidded along the floor right as another wave of thugs charged him. They all weren't holding the same glowing guns though. Some of them had normal baseball bats and handguns.

_Weird..._

Nevertheless, this wasn't Spider-Man's first rodeo.

He flipped underneath a hot purple blast and twisted around the baseball bat that swung over his head. He flicked his wrist out, catching the tip of the bat and flinging his hand to the side, causing the bat to shoot out of the man's hand and knock into the second guy's head.

His spine tingled and he ducked right as a loud _bang_ reverberated in his ears. He rolled along the ground underneath the bullets and shot his leg out, catching the thug in the back of the knee and sending him shooting to the ground. But not before Peter was slamming his fist to meet him on the way down, knocking him out cold. He twisted his webs around the guy's midsection and kicked him off to the side right as two more of his buddies came at him, bullets flying.

He twisted to the side and latched two more webs to the guns, yanking them right out of their hands. They stumbled forward and he was sliding underneath them, firing another pair of webs at their legs.

They screamed as they were dragged down, only to be flung against the side wall with a loud _thud_ and suspended with a large glob of webbing. Peter was barely able to finish securing them before he was ducking underneath another swing, this time from a long metal pipe.

Peter was tempted to crack a joke, most likely on their preparedness. But he quickly remembered that he wasn't alone. Distantly, he could hear the sound of fists connecting and grunts of pain that alerted him to the fact that Captain America was still there. He hadn't been imaging it. He wanted to just stop and take a step back for a second, wrap his head around what was going on.

But the pipe to the head was making that a bit difficult. He grunted and stumbled backwards, cursing himself for getting distracted as he fired two more webs at the nearby lampposts, slingshotting himself forward where his feet connected with the guy's face.

He toppled to the floor, pipe clattering next to him. Peter hoisted up his arm to web him down before he suddenly felt himself get hoisted up into the air, body frozen and limbs locked in place. His eyes darted around and fell upon another thug, this one wielding another one of those strange guns. But this one was different. It was four-pronged with bright blue and orange sparks crackling at the tips and seemed to be warping the gravity around him.

"Whoa! This feels so weird!" He couldn't help but crack out before the man was swinging his arms back and forth, causing the gun to whip Peter against the stone walls of the alleyway and the metal legs of the elevated subway track. He grunted in pain as he was knocked silly, back aching and shoulder throbbing as he was suddenly reminded of why he had been avoiding Spider-Man for the past week.

His injuries from the Terrarium still hadn't fully healed he realized as he shouted in pain, the jarring hits beginning to make him dizzy. Quickly shooting his arm out, he latched his fingers against the wall as he was slammed against it again, sticking hard enough to keep the gun from yanking him away. Instead, he shot his other arm out, firing a web at a nearby trash bin. He yanked it forward, causing the bin to fly out and slam into the thug, knocking him and the gun to the floor.

Peter quickly fired another pair of webs, one at the gun and the other at the goon, locking them both to the floor. He leapt off the wall and groaned, rotating his shoulder as his body gave a weak ache of protest. He didn't have much time to recover before Pipe Dude was back, swinging wildly in a last-ditch effort to get in a hit.

Peter simply side-stepped him, grabbing his arm on the way by and shoving it forward to slam into the guy's own face, knocking him to the floor with a yelp of pain.

 _Okay...so this obviously isn't one of Dad's groups. So where the heck did they get the glowy tech?_ The... _gravity_ gun thingy reminded him of something he'd seen his father's gangs using, but then how did these... _amateurs_ get their hands on it?

He didn't have time to wonder, for another large purple blast was flying over his head. He whipped around towards the source and noticed that the rest of the gang was circling around the Captain.

Rogers slammed his fist into the face of one before ducking underneath the swinging bat of another. He kicked his leg out, knocking his boot into the kneecap of the thug, sending him to the floor. He rammed his elbow into the guy's shoulder and hoisted him up, slamming him into his friend as they both tumbled around in a jumble of limbs.

A third man charged forward, lifting his gun to aim for the Captain only for a line of webbing to latch onto his back and tug him backwards with a yelp of shock. Roger's eyes widened and his muscles slacked slightly as he watched Spider-Man leap off the nearby lamppost and kick the man into the sidewall, head slamming into the bricks before he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Spider-Man landed with a small little _thump_ in front of him, lenses shrinking slightly as he stared back at him. Rogers opened his mouth to speak, only to wince as another blast shot over their heads. Peter turned too, only for another hot purple blast to slam into his chest, knocking him to the floor with a breathless gasp. There was a familiar burning sensation in his chest that _definitely_ confirmed that this was the same tech his father used sometimes, for it left him gritting his teeth as his ears rang.

Strong hands latched onto his shoulders and suddenly he was being dragged along the ground.

_("Make sure he never forgets it.")_

Defenses up, he shot his hands out and pushed the grip away as the memory screeched around him, eyes meeting Captain America's again and the garbage bin the man had pulled him behind. The thug was still firing the gun, obviously desperate enough to just fire randomly, if only to keep them at bay.

Nevertheless, the small breather was apparently enough of a break for the Captain. "What are you doing here?!"

"Wha-? Uh, I _live_ here. What are _you_ doing here, Mr. Criminal?!" Was this guy serious?

The man opened his mouth again, only to duck down as a particularly strong blast slammed into the wall over their heads, showering them with bits of brick and debris. They both peeked their heads out around the sides of the garbage bin. There were five guys left, including _Trigger Fingers,_ who was now shooting blast after blast at the can. The other guys were rounding up bags that Peter had to assume were filled with cash. Not much of a stretch, the nearest ATM was only a few minutes away, and with this tech at their disposal, it was an easy target.

Peter cursed himself for not going out as Spider-Man earlier. So what if he wasn't at a hundred percent yet? That didn't stop guys like these from going out and causing trouble. Well, he was here now. He cast a small glance over his shoulder at the man crouched beside him.

He'd deal with _that_ later.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said, not bothering to throw him a glance as he kept his eyes trained on the gunman from behind their barricade.

" _I_ shouldn't be here? I'm not the one with a warrant on their head and a penchant for blowing up buildings."

Rogers glanced over towards him at that, and Peter couldn't keep the small satisfactory grin off his face at the look of disbelief smearing onto the guy's own. But he could pick a fight later. Right now, they had some issues to sort out.

"Five left. Shouldn't be a problem," he murmured, quickly focusing back in on the targets ahead.

"Right. I'll take out the two on the left. You go for the guys on the right and we both make the gunman. Got it?"

Peter felt his nose scrunching and an involuntary spark of indignation in his chest. "I'm taking orders from you now?"

"Got a better idea?"

"I - that's not the point."

"Well, explain it to me later. You ready?"

He growled but didn't say anything more as he poised on the edge of the covering, the Captain doing the same. The man held up his hand as another blast ripped the wall behind them before pointing forward.

With a flick of his fingers, Peter leapt out from behind the can and snagged the arm of the thug on the right, yanking his grip away from the bag he'd been going for and dragging him backwards. He twisted him around and slammed his fist into his cheek, ducking underneath the man's own blow and kneeing him in the gut before throwing him over his shoulder.

His buddy began to fire, the bullets meeting the wall behind him as he rolled underneath them. He kicked his leg up, jostling the gun out of the man's grip before he was firing another web, this one connecting with the guy's face. He tugged down, yanking the man to the ground and quickly webbing him to the dirty concrete floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see flashes of purple light and Rogers quickly making his way through the pair of goons. The man tossed one thug over to the wall and the other down into the ground, stepping back to let Peter web them secure before they were turning towards the gunman.

The guy's eyes widened as he realized he was the last man standing before his hand was shooting towards the dial on the side of the gun. Peter felt a sickening feeling of Deja-vu as he held up his hand. "No!"

Before either he or the Captain could race forward, the gun shook and whirred before a bright white light was flickering in the barrel, shooting out in a flash of blinding force that illuminated the entire subway alley in explosive light. Peter felt something shove hard into his side and he was suddenly tumbling along the ground as the blast ripped through the air, firing into the wall and the above fire escape, tearing the structure to shreds and sending it crashing down into a mess of hot metal and stone.

Peter grunted in pain as he felt pieces of brick and metal slam into his back, pressing him down into the ground as it began to cover the area in stone and debris. A ripple of dust exploded out, filling the air with a thick blanket of smog and dirt as everything shook in place, the very ground seeming to vibrate at the force of the blow.

Then silence.

It took a moment, of which all Peter could hear was a dull ringing in his ears and the muted sound of his own breathing. But after a second, he was able to open his eyes and take in a small breath. It was tight with the weight of everything pressing down on his back making it harder to get in a clean breath of air. Or perhaps it was just all the dust around him.

It was cramped as a nauseating sense of claustrophobia began to seep into his skin.

_(Jolts of electricity in his muscles, chains scrapping against his wrists, butterflies, butterflies, butterfli-)_

_Stop._ He growled to himself. This was no time to panic. A tempting itch to reach up and pull his mask off made his fingers twitch, but the drumming adrenaline still coursing through his veins told him otherwise.

_This isn't over yet, Peter._

He coughed out another breath and pushed down on the floor, grunting in pain as he felt the metal shifting against him, pressing into his sides and poking against his back. He gritted his teeth and positioned his legs for better leverage, muscles straining as he pushed upwards. Finally, the metal gave way and shifted enough for him to push it fully away, gasping for a full breath as he quickly scanned the scene for the thugs, fists clenching and heart pounding.

But there was nobody in the alleyway, nothing but the webbed up criminals and a few abandoned bags of money.

_Or...maybe it is..._

He took a second to spare one last glance around before letting out a loud groan as he placed a hand to his throbbing head, leaning up against the undamaged parts of the wall. His back ached and he could feel a deep strain in his shoulder from where Curt had bitten him last week, ribs giving a similar protest of pain. Hopefully, he hadn't broken them again.

He could hear the soft crackling of small little flames from where the blast had set fire to the few pieces of garbage littering the scene. Scanning his eyes over the mound of metal and debris, Peter couldn't help but wince at the mess around him. This...wasn't his best work, he had to admit. Well, at least he was alone; nobody to see the carnage.

But as his eyes trailed over the wreckage of the twisted fire escape, his mind jolted as he realized he wasn't _supposed_ to be alone.

"Captain Rogers?" he called, a lilt of panic entering his voice as he whipped his head towards the subway underpass, hoping that maybe the man had avoided the collapsing structure altogether. But hope of seeing the man unscathed quickly extinguished as his mind began to register what the _shove_ he'd felt before the collapse had been.

_"Shit."_

Without another beat, the teen was leaping towards the mangled mess, hands flying towards the metal pipes and jutting corners. He winced, rearing back and shaking his hands as he felt the sheer _heat_ of the metal even from behind the protective layering of the suit, hesitating for a split second before going back in. He gritted his teeth against the burning in his hands and continued to lift piece after piece of metal and rock away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, during which his heart had been growing more and more erratic in its beating, he pushed a large section of metal railing away to expose a limp hand. Narrowing his eyes, he continued to dig around the limb until he'd uncovered enough of the Captain's body to pull him away from the burning wreckage.

Grunting at the effort it took to fully pry the man away from the tangled metal, they both collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs, Peter gasping for breath as his muscles shrieked. But now wasn't the time to take a breather.

Quickly flipping onto his hands and knees, he crawled over towards the limp body of the Captain, taking painful note of each bleeding scrape and every patch of red, burned skin. The man's eyes were closed and his body was horrifyingly still.

_("I thought it was obvious that the only reason we're dead is because of you.")_

Without a second thought, Peter was jutting his fingers against the man's neck, ears straining, heart in his throat.

He heard the first beat and felt the thrum of a pulse at the same time, making him physically deflate in relief as he sagged down into a sitting position next to the unconscious Avenger.

This was turning out to be a long day.

Peter ran a hand down his face, moving it to rub at the back of his neck as he let out a long groan, both out of pain and exhaustion.

His lack of sleep the day prior was beginning to catch up to him, body heavy and sluggish as he felt the last droves of energy beginning to seep out of him like oil through his skin, staining the floor below a dark black. It wasn't the worst fight he'd been in, by far. It hadn't even been that _hard,_ per say. Just an...unlucky circumstance and an _unlikely_ presence mixing together into a not-so-great scenario.

Peter glanced to the side at the still form of Steve Rogers, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Steve _frikkin_ Rogers was there in the flesh. The teen tentatively reached a hand out, finger poised as he wondered whether or not he was simply imaging the man.

He shook his head and pulled his hand down. _Come on, Peter. Be serious. It's perfectly reasonable that Steve Rogers, ex-Avenger and international criminal, was just wandering around a neighborhood in Queens and happened to pick a fight with a couple of common street thugs in nothing but a t-shirt and cargo shorts._

. . .

Peter poked the man in the arm. Flesh. _Real._

He sighed in both resignation and relief as he turned his head away and glanced around at his surroundings now that he actually had a second to think.

For a randomized street fight, they had picked a pretty prime spot. The alleyway was dark, lit only by a couple of nearby lampposts that barely served to light the very ground they hovered over, let alone the entire street. Along one side was the _now-crumbling_ brick wall that sectioned off an abandoned parking lot while the other extended underneath the elevated subway platform, which stood a good twenty feet overhead. There hadn't been any trains recently, thank god.

The goons were still scattered around the alley, webbed to walls or floors. Thankfully none of them were conscious to see his impending freakout.

That was good, at least.

With that, Peter turned towards the _not-so-good_ element.

Captain Rogers still hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched. There was a fairly sizable cut just above his eyebrow, a trail of blood trickling down his temple. Peter winced and glanced over towards the mangled pile of metal a few paces away. Judging from how long the cut was and how... _destructive_ that blast had been, the teen was fairly certain the man wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon. And the distant sound of sirens was the backdrop to his realization of a bigger problem:

What was he supposed to do now?

Peter scrunched his eyes and felt his fingers twitching on the ground as his thoughts started to pick up speed.

This was usually the time he'd make his escape, leave the guys for the cops to handle. He still wasn't sure what the locals really thought of his _'exploits'_. There were always the cops that were grateful, of course. But there was also a sizable number of people in general who resented the very _idea_ of Spider-Man. And ever the unlucky one, Peter never took the chance of meeting one of the _not-so-grateful_ ones. So he'd never stick around to see them off, at least not anywhere he could be seen.

But now he had some pretty sizable baggage to take care of in the form of a 6'3 super-soldier.

He couldn't just _leave_ the man there, could he? Soon enough, the alleyway would be crawling with cops. Even the most secluded part of the street would be searched and the man would most _definitely_ be found, no matter how well Peter hid him.

And being found meant being arrested, which meant being taken away, most likely to the Raft.

So, what was his other option, then? To take the man somewhere? But where was he supposed to go? He couldn't go far, not with the threat of somebody seeing Spider-Man carrying Steve "Rogue Leader" Rogers around the frikkin city. So, the man _had_ to have someplace nearby where he was staying.

Peter blinked as he slowly began to realize that if Captain America was there then that meant his teammates couldn't be too far either.

For some reason, the thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

Nevertheless, how was he supposed to find them? The frikkin _government_ hadn't been able to find them for over two months! How much luck could _he_ possibly have?

The wailing noise was beginning to grow, the faint sight of flashing lights just barely visible in the distance. He was running out of time.

Peter rose up to his feet, the itching anxiety flowing through his muscles too much to ignore. He began to pace, picking at the bottom edge of Ben's jacket, which he'd forgotten all about in the heat of the moment. A quick check revealed it wasn't too badly banged up. Just a few smudges of dirt, nothing he couldn't clean off.

_Focus, Peter._

He turned his gaze back towards Captain Rogers. He still hadn't moved.

 _I could just stay here...wait till he wakes up._ The idea held up for a few hopeful moments before his face tightened and he shook his head. No. The threat of being seen was still on the table. And if Spider-Man was seen with a wanted international fugitive...

He could kiss his job goodbye.

The idea made him stutter in his pacing. The idea of losing Spider-Man, of losing his one constant comfort, the _one_ thing he could truly rely on...

 _Not_ an option.

Peter jumped as he heard the sound of a distant car engine, head whipping around to make sure they were still alone. Nerves getting the better of him, he looped his hands underneath the Captain's arms and began to drag him underneath the subway platform, just to make sure anybody passing by wouldn't be able to see them in the darkness.

He dropped the man with a loud sigh, pressing both hands to his head as he began to feel the panic building in his chest.

What was he left with then? Was he just stuck?

. . .

_You could take him home._

This time he _did_ freeze up, muscles tensing as the idea floated through his mind before he could stop it. Immediately, Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the metal legs of the platform. "Great idea, Parker. Why don't you just invite him over for Sunday brunch?" he muttered to himself.

His apartment _was_ only a block or two away though, and nobody was home, but - _no._ He wasn't actually considering this, was he? It didn't matter that the man obviously needed medical attention, or that he had the proper supplies at home and the experience to boot. No, of course not. Home _wasn't_ an option. Because it was a crazy idea! A stupid, crazy, _bad_ idea!

_("Well...maybe you need a bad idea.")_

Peter's eyes trailed over the cut on the man's head, on the blood trickling down the side of his face, dripping into a little pool on the floor.

_(His blood dripping, dripping down into the pool around his knees, caking overtop the chains, reflecting the butterflies, bright, red-)_

The lights were getting closer. The sirens were loud enough that normal ears would have been able to hear them now.

He could have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. On the off chance his father returned that night, for him to find Steve Rogers hidden away in his bedroom...Peter would never see the light of day again. Not to mention he'd probably be responsible for Captain America's untimely death, which he wasn't so sure he wanted on his conscience.

But not only was it dangerous for Peter Parker. It was dangerous for Spider-Man _._

If he took him home, he'd have to take off the suit. There was no _way_ he was wearing it in the house, not even in his bedroom, not even with them gone. He couldn't chance it, couldn't chance the thought of having them spring in on him only to find him dressed as the guy who'd been thwarting their plans for ages now.

And with the mask off, who was to say Rogers wouldn't figure out who he was? After teaming up with Spider-Man, to suddenly find himself in the bedroom of a random teenage boy who sounds remarkably similar to the masked vigilante? He'd put two and two together. He'd figure it out.

Was he really willing to put himself on the line for this guy?

Peter glanced down at that, stared at the man lying at his feet. Steve Rogers...Captain America. The same Captain America that had saved the world at least three times over. The same Captain America that had been every little boy's hero since the forties. The same Captain America that was now a wanted international criminal, who had gone up against Mr. Stark and had left him with that haunted look in his eyes.

Suddenly Peter was very, _very_ angry.

Why was he even debating this? Why was he making this _his_ problem in the first place? It wasn't! Steve Rogers didn't deserve his help. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd done to Mr. Stark! He was a criminal for a reason, wanted for a reason. Why should Peter waste his time worrying over a guy who most definitely didn't deserve anything he had to offer?

Red lights were flashing before his eyes. Or maybe it was just his anger.

He should have webbed Rogers up as soon as he'd seen him. He was just as much of a criminal as those others, even without the tech, even without the bags of stolen money hoisted over his shoulder. His hands were dirty. Who was Peter to help him avoid justice, justice for his _mentor,_ his _friend!_

Peter clenched his fists as he glared down at the man. "I should leave you here. Leave you just like you left him," he growled, wondering if the man could hear it. He hoped he could.

Mr. Stark was as depressed as he was because of this guy, because this...this _asshole_ left him to fend for himself. Why shouldn't Peter do the same?

There was _no way_ he was about to risk his own freedom, his own safety, for this jerk. He already had enough problems on his hands. He didn't need to add any more superheroes to the mix!

With that burning thought swirling around his head, Peter stomped out from underneath the overpass, teeth grinding together as he threw a glare over his shoulder. "Good luck, Captain. You're gonna need it," he muttered as he poised his arm up, ready to fire a web and swing away, just forget this had ever happened.

_("He was a good guy, though. They all were.")_

He paused, finger poised on the trigger as he was suddenly standing in a different alleyway, fighting to see through the encroaching red and blue lights, as he was pulled back to the last time he'd hesitated to leave, the last time he should have just...

_("Please...I don't want to die.")_

Peter hesitated for a moment before slowly glancing back over to the pile of mangled metal, to the spot he'd climbed out of, to the spot he'd been _pushed_ towards.

His skin crawled and his stomach pooled with a sinking realization.

He'd pushed Peter out of the way, saved him from the brunt of the impact.

He swallowed, his throat dry and course as he lowered his head, teeth pinching into his lower lip. Rogers had saved him. He hadn't had to, didn't even _know_ him, and yet he'd done so anyway. He'd saved him just like Peter had saved Bobby all those weeks ago. His chest tightened and he suddenly felt like he was underneath the pile again, the air slowly being crushed out of him.

Peter let out a small breath, if only to alleviate the pressure building up inside his lungs, and glanced up towards the sky. The moon still hung high overhead, now unperturbed by storm clouds.

 _Mr. Stark's probably still awake_ , he thought to himself as he glanced over towards Stark Tower. He could just see the tip of it from where he stood.

The sirens were getting closer. They echoed in his ears.

He wanted to see him again. Wanted to talk to him, get his advice. What would Mr. Stark say if he could see him now, what would he do? Would he be mad at Peter for punishing someone who'd saved him based on his own personal biases? Or would he be angrier that Peter was even hesitating to leave Rogers for the cops?

_("Thanks, kid.")_

_("For what?")_

_("...Not giving up on me.")_

Peter clenched his fists, tried to still the shaking in his hands.

They'd call him...if the cops got their hands on Rogers. They'd call Mr. Stark, drag him into the mix. Throw a mess of politics and media and mess his way and get him involved in a war with no winners, where he'd already come out bruised and scarred.

If he ignored this problem...it'd become Mr. Stark's, his weight to carry, his burden to bear.

The lights were flashing off the nearby buildings. He was out of time. He had to make a choice.

. . .

_(So...why don't you protect him?")_

But it was already made for him.

. . .

. . .

. . .

This was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

**Friday - April 29, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor**

**12:56 AM**

There was no glass in his hand.

Tony stared down at it for a while, a _good_ long while, too long to be normal. He flexed his fingers, felt the dull throb of pain as the cuts were pulled, but there were no shards. Nothing glinted back at him as he inspected the skin underneath the light of a nearby lamp.

The kid had picked them all out.

He stared down at the cuts for a moment longer, grazed his fingers over the long gashes across the skin before he sighed and reached for the sterilized wipes. It only took a second to clean the wound and properly bandage it with something a bit more medically appropriate than a dish towel, but Tony felt himself wishing it had lasted longer. For now, there was nothing left to do nothing except finish what he'd started an hour ago before the pain in his hand had forced him to take a break.

There was only one bottle left.

Tony stared it down, watched the beads of condensation drip down the sides, pooling around the bottom. The glass was clear, allowed him to see the golden liquid inside, staring right back at him.

The garbage can was filled to the brim, so much so that after he'd cleared out the second rack, he'd resorted to stacking them _around_ the bottom of the trash instead. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to move from one bottle to the other, dumping their contents down the sink, a mechanical process that he didn't have to think about; just enjoyed that there was something for him to do, something that gave him a short respite from the thoughts bubbling in his head.

But now there was one. And it wouldn't stop staring at him.

Tony had tried it once, years ago. He'd tried to quit, tried to go clean, forgo that section of his life, the one last piece of his old pre-Afghanistan days.

He lasted two days.

Pepper hadn't been surprised at his lack of resolve. Disappointed maybe, but not surprised. In her mind, or at least what she'd explained to Tony, was that as long as he didn't have a reason to stop, he never would. Tony had shot back the ridiculousness of the statement, saying that _she_ was a damn good enough reason, to which she'd scoffed. They'd fought for a while, Tony couldn't remember how long. He'd been drunk.

It hadn't been much different then as it was now. Pouring out the majority of the bottles was a breeze as his mind continued to circulate with the notion that he could change, that it would be for the best, that _he_ controlled his body. But now, now that there was only one, only one standing between him and the...unpleasantness that came from a detox-session, he felt his resolve wavering, his hesitations growing.

Could he really put himself through that again?

_Brave._

Could he be brave?

The thought made him shut his eyes, a reminder of the conversation they'd had not even two hours ago, a reminder of the reason he was even _considering_ quitting.

Pepper said he needed a reason.

He couldn't continue as he'd been doing, couldn't wallow in the safety net that the bottles provided, a numbing relief from the thoughts he didn't want to have. Maybe he could when there was nobody to watch him (or at least, nobody who could stop him if they did), nobody to see the things he was doing and take them to heart.

But Peter...Peter already had enough trouble dealing with his emotions, dealing with his thoughts. And for him to see Tony completely avoiding them, for him to see the billionaire take the easy route instead of addressing them head-on...

Safe to say it wasn't a habit Tony wanted to pass on.

_("I want to make a deal.")_

His fingers grazed up against the bandages. They were starting to itch.

He'd made a pact, an agreement to be there for Peter when the kid needed him. He couldn't be in the middle of a drunken stupor if he ever showed up on his doorstep looking for advice, looking for safety. Tony couldn't do that to the kid.

He had to prove that he was somebody who _deserved_ Peter's trust, somebody who wouldn't squander it or treat it as nothing.

Tony continued to trace his eyes over the gauze if only to keep them off the bottle in front of him. He pressed his palms down against the counter, the cool surface reminding him of how cold Peter's fingers had been.

Now that the kid was gone and there was nothing truly stopping him from drinking, the itch was there. But as he lifted his gaze and watched another bead of condensation drip down the side of the bottle, Tony began to realize something.

After Peter had cleaned out his hand, when he'd sat and listened to Tony talk about things he could barely talk about with his friends, friends he'd known for half his life, he hadn't been parched. He hadn't wanted to drink, hadn't wanted to bury the words, and suppress his thoughts in a comforting haze of nothingness. It almost felt... _good_ releasing them, watching them leave his mouth, one smokey breath at a time. And he knew why, he knew why it felt so good to let it all out, to voice thoughts he felt so sick mentioning to Happy or Rhodey or even Pepper.

Peter understood. Peter truly and _completely_ understood. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy could try to place themselves in his shoes, try to see things from his perspective, but at the end of the day, their lives were not the same. There would always be judgment, no matter how hard they tried to repress it.

There had been no judgment in Peter's eyes, not even as he'd exposed Tony's aversion to the dark, not even as Tony began to sink into his thoughts, thick and bleak and suffocating. Peter had pulled him out. Peter understood _._

Peter knew _._

His eyes stayed locked on the bottle, hoped it would disappear, then hoped it wouldn't. Back and forth, his thoughts swirled around and around, making his head throb and his foot tap against the tile below. But there was no change in the bottle itself, just another drop sliding down the sides. A small little puddle was beginning to form underneath it.

He wanted a drink. So he clenched his fist to keep from reaching out towards the glass and forced himself to turn away. But he could still hear the subtle calling of the liquid inside, so he drove his legs forward, one after the other until it got harder and harder to hear. He was heading for his bedroom, but unsurprisingly, sleep didn't seem to be within his grasp at the moment.

So instead, seeing as tonight seemed to be the night for addressing his problems head-on, he quickly resolved to head downstairs and deal with the headache that would be confronting his undoubtedly panicking friends.

After a shower, of course. Something told him the scotch-stained shirt and disheveled hair wouldn't do well to lending to the " _responsible adult"_ image he was resolving to portray.

**. . . . .**

"Nothing. Nobody from the California branch has seen him, not in or around the building," Pepper sighed into the phone, lifting a hand to rub against her forehead.

Happy's voice filtered in through the call. _"No sighting of him around the city here either. I even staked out the Parker place in case he decided to head there."_

"And."

_"No dice."_

The woman resisted the urge to chew her nails as she began to pace around the Common Floor, phone pressing harder into her cheek as she stole a sharp intake of breath. The beeping of another call made her tense. _"Hang on, Happy. Rhodey's joining in."_

She added him to the call and quickly lifted the phone back up, careful to keep the hope out of her voice. "Well?"

Rhodey's voice quickly deflated the spark she couldn't hold back as he sighed into the receiver. _"I checked with Everett. He's not in DC. That's it. We've checked everything else._ " His voice suddenly tapered off, leaving a thick voiding gap of silence between the three of them that made Pepper's stomach begin to cramp around her insides. She could hear her fingernails tapping against the sides of the phone as Rhodey spoke again.

_"It's the only reason why FRIDAY would disable the elevators."_

Her nails were in her mouth before she could think better of it, teeth pinching against them. "We...are we sure there aren't any...any other options?"

_"We've been crossing out options all day, Pep. There aren't any meetings. No board schedulings. He's not at any of the other branches, no security cams have picked him up around the city. He's up there."_

_"What the hell, then? What is he doing up there?"_ Not even Happy's usual annoyed tone could mask the underlying notes of worry seeping through in his voice. And Rhodey's reply didn't settle Pepper's nerves.

_"Something he doesn't want us to see."_

Her grip tightened around the phone. "Or stop."

She didn't have to say anything else. None of them did, for they were all thinking the same thing. It was the same fears they'd been sharing ever since Tony had come back from Siberia alone, ever since he'd started increasing his drinking to at least two bottles per day, ever since the glazed look in his eyes had started lingering for longer than just brief moments between conversations, lasted for hours, days.

And now none of them were up there to stop him from giving in to that look, that _horrifying_ look that made Pepper want to cry every time she saw it leave its numbing mark on the man's face.

"I can't...we can't just sit here anymore." Her voice wavered. She pressed on. "We have to get up there somehow."

 _"How?"_ Happy asked. _"FRIDAY's been barring our access since this morning."_

She shook her head, gritted her teeth, could feel the seconds ticking by faster and faster. They should have done this earlier. _She_ should have done this earlier. Her hope had blinded her once again. What a fool.

"Suit. Rhodey, you...get a suit. If FRIDAY's on total lockdown up there, I...I don't know, just blast your way through if you have to."

"You blast, you buy."

Pepper's head whipped around so fast, her hair swung around to smack her in the cheek. She didn't even flinch, though. Not as her misty eyes trailed Tony like a hawk as he exited the elevator, hands in his pockets and shoulders slack. He shrugged. The bastard actually shrugged. "Not really an expenses thing, more on the matter of principle, you know?"

_"Pepper? Pepper, you there?"_

_"What's happening. You alright?"_

"Boys. I have him. I'll call you back."

_"Wai-"_

She ended the call without taking her eyes off the man as if he'd disappear if she didn't keep staring straight at him. She could feel her jaw clenching tightly as a sudden stiffness entered her muscles. Slowly, she began to make her way towards him, heels clicking quietly against the floors.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was low, calm, nothing like what she was feeling inside.

Tony paused for a moment, gazing back into her eyes before giving a small nod. "I'm fine. I-"

Without another beat of hesitation, Pepper was slapping him across the face, the sharp sound echoing off the walls of the empty room. He barely even flinched.

"You son of a bitch."

"Should have seen that coming."

Her eyes blazed as she fought to keep from hitting him again, from hitting that calm, carefree look off his face, like he hadn't spent the better part of the day driving them crazy. "Do you not care about anybody? Or is it just _us_ that you like to string along?" She felt a small sense of pride over how collected she sounded, like the words _didn't_ make her want to pull her hair out.

"Eighteen hours, Tony. We were scrambling down here for _eighteen hours."_ Her hands were shaking. She folded her arms to hide it. "I tried to come talk to you this morning, figure out how the meeting went with Ross. You remember that? The Accords? The one thing you cannot _afford_ to mess around with?"

He didn't say anything. She didn't stop to give him time.

"We tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, thought maybe you'd gone off to handle some business, tried to take your job seriously for once. Then our elevator access doesn't work for the penthouse. That's when we start to worry. But, okay. Fine. You need some time to yourself. I get that. But you were gone for _eighteen fucking hours_ on a floor that could double as an underground college bar." Pepper doesn't curse, not usually at least. But the words seem to have taken control.

"Do you know how terrified we were? How terrified _I_ was? All I could imagine was you up there alone, drinking yourself to death while we ran around here clueless. Do you even care? It's one in the _goddamn_ morning, Tony. We have jobs, lives that we take seriously and yet we're stumbling all over the building - _hell_ , the entire _city_ chasing a man who seems to have made it his own personal goal to destroy himself."

There are tears in her eyes, maybe of anger. She doesn't really know, doesn't care.

"Is that what you're trying to do, Tony? Destroy yourself? Because I'm warning you right now. I am not going to stand around and wait for that to happen. I'm not going to _watch_ it happen! I won't! I-"

"I talked to Peter."

Tony's voice is so calm it cuts right through the fuzz that was beginning to fill Pepper's head. She choked on her words, swallowed them down as she tried to process what he just said. She does slowly, blinking at him as she scrunches her face ever so slightly.

"I...you what?"

"The kid. I talked to him. Well, technically I talked to him twice. First last night and then, like...just now. Literally. He left like an hour ago."

Pepper took a breath, took multiple breaths until they stopped feeling so shaky. "What happened?" Suddenly the answer seems more important than justifying her rage.

"You mean before or after he blew up on me on top of the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of a lightning storm?" For the first time, Tony's face breaks ever so slightly, a tired look creeping around the edges as he blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck. "Eighteen hours, huh? Is that how long it's been? Feels longer." He sat down on the couch, hands clasped between his legs. He looked tired, looked just like how Pepper felt. She hesitated, stared him down and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth before coming to sit on the chair across from him.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning."

**. . . . .**

All in all, it took less than an hour to recount everything. Pepper didn't say anything as Tony spoke, just listened to everything with a passive, contemplative look, fingers thrumming against the side of the chair every once in a while. Tony didn't bother in trying to read what she was thinking, just concentrated on telling the story, on keeping his stomach settled and his leg still, refusing the urge to bounce it.

He wanted a drink. His fingers were twitching. It had been a few hours since his last, so he knew it was only a matter of time before the symptoms began to come on.

Pepper, thankfully wasn't watching his hands. Her eyes were downcast, hands now folded and pressed against her lips. Her brows furrowed as she shut her eyes. "Are you sure there's no way we could...?"

She didn't need to finish. Tony knew what she meant, which led to him shaking his head. "We can't go to the police, Pepper. As long as he thinks that's a viable option for us to take, he's never going to talk, never going to start to trust me. And I can't afford to delay that. I can't. Not when that means leaving him in that hellhole for any longer than absolutely necessary."

The words were bitter, tasted sour on his tongue. But they had to be said. "We have to take the police, CPS, all of it off the table. I mean, it's no wonder the kid doesn't trust them. Six house visits in the last eight years and they've never _once_ found anything suspicious." He narrowed his eyes, voice taking on a bitter tone. "They've been failing him for years now."

Pepper sighed, lowering her hands as she leaned back in the chair. "They're probably scared, Tony. Richard Parker is one of the most powerful men in the city. If they rose any accusations, he'd crush them under so much litigation and lawyer-speak, they'd never get a say in otherwise. He'd completely destroy their practices in the city, obliterate their credibility."

Tony curled his lip as he felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. "So, what? They just turn a blind eye? Leave the kid to suffer so they don't have to deal with the consequences of calling out that abusive piece of shit?" He cut himself off before the words could overtake him, letting out a sharp sigh as he turned his head away.

"You know what he said?" He paused as Pepper raised a brow. "Peter. You know what he said when I brought up the police, brought up the only option that could really make a difference here? He said _'nobody would believe me.'_ And...and the certainty in his voice, it...it wasn't just a guess or a prediction." He narrowed his eyes. "It was fact."

Pepper stared at him for a moment before she sucked in a small breath of her own, realization dawning on her with a resigned look of dread. "He's told someone before."

"And they shot him down."

The floor was quiet, especially now that there was no rain to pound up against the windows. It was silent and heavy with the weight of everything they were saying. Tony could feel it in his muscles, feel it in the way his shoulders ached at the strain. He kept his head down, kept his eyes trailed on the floor below, traced the etches between the tiles.

"Pepper, this kid has been alone for so long. He lies to his friends, keeps his neighbors in the dark, he...he has nobody. I've been playing this all wrong. I thought if I could just tinker in the lab with him, exchange a few jokes here and there, get him to loosen up just a tad then it would be enough...it wasn't."

He stared down at his palm, gingerly brushed his fingers up against the cuts. His hands were beginning to tremble. "You know, in the two months I've known him, I've never seen him wear short sleeves? Just baggy jackets and too-big sweaters." He lifted his eyes to stare soberly at the woman. "How many people do you think don't even notice that? How many teachers never give it another thought? How many neighbors just turn a blind eye, never bother to look deeper, to take a second glance?"

She held his gaze for a moment before turning it to the floor. "They don't care."

Tony shook his head. "I don't want to be like that, Pepper. I don't want to be another person who doesn't care."

"So your deal..."

"A gesture. An offering for him to take...if and when he needs it. He needs to know I'm not just going to ignore it. I'm not going to be another person who doesn't believe him." He stopped, glancing away as he let out a small scoff. "I know it's not much. If things were easier, I would already be at the police station filing as many charges as I can, blasting through the door to that house and dragging the kid out before Richard could spell ' _prosecution_.'"

He gritted his teeth, glaring out the window to the night sky beyond. The moon was shining, casting bright silver light into the otherwise dim room. "But there's not one bad article about this guy. Not a single one from the past twenty years or so. No blemishes on his record, no misdemeanors, not even a traffic ticket! Just charity balls that raise millions of dollars, donations to any and every organization, volunteer work with the city, outreach programs, restoration projects, conservation orders, everything! The guy's like a modern-day Mother Teresa!"

Tony pushed off the couch at that, finding the nervous energy tingling through his nerves too much to bear sitting down. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sharp sigh. "To everybody out there, Richard Parker is the selfless widower raising his son as a single father while doing his part to help everyone he can."

Pepper blinked up at him, lips pursing slightly. "So nobody would ever entertain the notion that he's a child abuser."

Tony clenched his fists at the words, chest tightening as he began to make his way over to the archway leading to the kitchen. "Especially not when said child doesn't corroborate the story, not when he's smiling for the cameras and playing the part of the loving son." He rested his arm against the wall, pressing his forehead against the lifted limb.

His head was beginning to throb now, a dull ache that pulsed behind his eyes and made him squeeze them shut even tighter. His leg bounced underneath him, a steady reminder of the tense air hovering around him. God, he really needed a drink.

Pepper stood up from the chair right as Tony moved away from the wall and into the kitchen. Her eyes followed him as she spoke. "Tony, that's... _years_ of conditioning, years of abuse and neglect and so many other horrible things that I don't even want to think about, let alone imagine Peter going through them." He stopped in front of the fridge, opening the door and quickly spotting the bottles of wine chilling along the racks. Pepper continued to speak. "But he has...and it's colored his personality completely."

Tony tapped his fingers on the handle to the fridge as he listened, eyes locked on the bottles. He lifted his hand and reached in.

"How are you planning on just...erasing all of that?"

He wrapped his fingers around the water bottle on the top shelf and pulled it out, shutting the door before he could spare another glance at the alcohol calling out for him. "I'm...working on it," he muttered, unscrewing the cap before downing about half of its contents.

Tony was vaguely aware of Pepper slowly approaching as he finally pulled the water away. He leaned up against the back wall and pressed the bottle into both of his hands, the cold exterior soothing the slight sting in his palm. He could see the water sloshing up against the sides of the bottle as the slight tremor in his hands continued.

"You know, two days ago, you were thinking of dropping this altogether. Now you're arranging plans for him to stay with you for the entire summer." She pressed her elbows down into the bar counter, watching him intently with narrowed eyes. "What changed?"

At this, the man lifted his gaze. It was easy to read the expression on Pepper's face this time. It was a certain skepticism, a hint of caution he was used to seeing stretch across her features. He sighed, set the bottle down, and grabbed one of the bar stools. "The kid...Peter did." He twisted the seat around and plopped down with a huff. "He was scared, scared of all of this and he still came back. I figured I owed it to him to...you know, at least _try_. That's all I really can do right now. Try. Pray it's enough."

His head was turned, he couldn't see Pepper's face now. He didn't know if he even wanted to. He knew he probably sounded crazy, knew she most likely wouldn't approve. So instead he kept his eyes on the fridge, imagining the weight of the bottle in his hands, the sound of a glass being poured.

"So...summer, huh?"

Tony let out a small sigh and lowered his head, shutting his eyes. "Pepper, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this. I...I know you didn't ask for this, for any of this. But I promise I'm not going to drag you into helping or-"

"Whoa, whoa." The woman grabbed onto the back of Tony's chair and forcefully spun it around so that he was now facing her. Her eyes were hard. "Let's get one thing straight here. You're not dragging me into anything. I'm here, aren't I? By my own free will? What about that do you think is going to change in the time it takes to get from now to summer or, _hell_ , from now until we nail that bastard to the wall?"

He stared back at her, back at those breathtaking blue eyes that made his heart ache in his chest and his gut flip around his insides. She deserved better. "This isn't your problem, Pepper."

"It isn't yours either, but you're here anyway."

Tony paused, couldn't help the smile that fell onto his lips as he huffed out a small laugh. "The kid said something like that too."

Pepper folded her arms. "Then he's already getting good at calling you out on your bullshit." She sighed and sat down on the stool next to him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She turned away, pressed her fingers into her knees, gripped them so tightly, the skin began to turn white. She took in a small shuddering breath and leaned forward ever so slightly. "Tony, listen to me. Do you know why I was so scared today?"

He lifted his head, eyes crinkling slightly as he gave a small shake of his head. She took another breath. "I was scared because...b-because I thought...today's the day. Today's the day you go down drowning and I'm stuck a few floors away just... _helpless._ I thought...today's the day my inability to help you finally blows up."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Pepper...it isn't your fault. You walked away for a reason."

"I did."

"Those reasons haven't changed."

"They haven't. I can't stand feeling powerless, Tony. And when we were together, when I would watch you fly off in your suit to tackle problems nobody else could handle or watch you go down to the lab and tinker instead of talking to me...that's exactly what I felt. Helpless."

The guilt returned full-force, threatening to choke the life out of him. "Pepper, I'm so sorry-"

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she cut in. "I'm saying it so you'll understand."

She paused at that, seeming to hesitate for a moment before reaching over and gingerly latching a hand onto Tony's. If she noticed the way they shook in her grip, she didn't say anything. She merely stared down at them, eyes pinched at the edges and a sad little smile spreading onto her lips. "Tony, you're more similar to Peter than you might think. You have it in your head that you have to do things by yourself, that you can't trust anybody to help you with them, can't rely on anybody. But that isn't true. It wasn't true then and it isn't true now."

Pepper lifted her eyes, bore them straight into his, and tightened her grip on his hands. It was solid, stable, a foundation he realized he'd been lacking for so long now. "We aren't Steve. We aren't the others. We aren't going to pack up our things and leave you all alone when you need us the most."

Suddenly he felt his eyes misting. He swallowed it down. "Maybe you should."

"Maybe...but we aren't going to. _I'm_ not going to." She reached up a hand and cupped the side of his face. He shut his eyes and felt himself leaning into the touch, tightening his grip on her hands as well, as if he were afraid she was going to disappear if he let go. Her thumb brushed up against the corner of his eye. "Just because we aren't together anymore doesn't mean I don't still love you. Because I do. Just like Rhodey loves you, just like Happy loves you."

She leaned in closer, resting her forehead against his as he felt his hands slowly stop shaking. "We're your friends, honey. Don't lie to us like Peter lies to his. Don't _choose_ to be alone. Because that's what it is here. A choice. Choose to let us help you. Let us help you help him."

Tony didn't open his eyes, didn't pull away. "This fight, it's...it's not going to be easy."

"With you? I'd be disappointed if it was."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, blinking open his eyes to stare at her face.

Pepper Potts had, for the longest time, been like Rhodey: one of the only constants in his life. When his life was parties and girls and weapons, she had been there. When it became suits and politics and world-ending battles, she had been there. Maybe that was what made Siberia so hard, what made the team leaving so hard.

For the first time, Pepper wasn't there. And for perhaps the millionth time, it was Tony's fault.

But as he sat there and stared back at her, stared at the metaphysical hand she was offering, he realized he didn't care if it wasn't the same as before, didn't care that this wouldn't repair everything between them, didn't care about the possibility that nothing ever would. Right now, Pepper was here. She was here, she was staying, and that was enough.

So when she wrapped her arms around him, he only hesitated for a fraction of a second before burying his head into the crook of her neck and nearly collapsing into her arms, no longer feeling the need to put up a façade of strength. Not with Pepper.

He wanted to say thank you, but the words got lodged in his throat. She seemed to understand, though.

"We're here...if and when you need us. Don't forget that."

**. . . . .**

Tony stared down at his hand, at the cuts; thought about what they meant, what they represented. He wondered if they'd scar. He hoped they would because for the first time in his life, he didn't _want_ to forget.

_Brave._

Could he be brave?

Without another beat of hesitation, Tony popped the cap on the last bottle and turned it upside down, emptying its contents down the sink.

For Peter, he decided, he could be.

* * *

**Friday - April 29, 2016**

**Location: Unknown**

**Time: Unknown**

Steve awoke none too gently, not with a flutter of the eyes and a soft groan, but with a jolt of the muscles and a choking gasp that had him sitting up in a heartbeat.

Immediately, his senses were on high alert, eyes instinctively scanning the room for threats as his heart thudded in his ears and his adrenaline spiked. He clenched his fists, muscles poised to leap right into action as he whipped his head around, trying to locate the enemy.

Only...there were no enemies. Just towels.

Steve could feel his chest bouncing up and down as each breath left him in a pant, body stilling as he slowly began to realize he wasn't in an alleyway anymore. He wasn't in a cell or a hostage of some sort. In fact, there was nobody around. He was alone...in a bathroom.

"The hell...?" he couldn't help but murmur as he furrowed his brow, lips parting ever so slightly. There was a low buzzing in his ears, a constant hum that seemed to bounce around his head and made his skin itch.

There _had_ been a fight, right? That much he was almost sure of. A fight with thugs and money and guns. It was real. It happened. So why was he now surrounded by pristine white tile and a ceramic tub? And why was his head pounding?

He tried to think back, recall anything else about the fight, but a spike of pain shot through his skull as he did so, causing him to wince and reach a hand up to his temple. His fingers grazed up against something and he froze. Just below his hairline, his fingers made contact with something that most definitely _wasn't_ his skin. He spotted the mirror up above the counter and quickly rose up to his feet, leaning against the sink as he stared back.

There were...bandages all over him.

His forearm was wrapped from his fingers up to his elbow, masking the burns he could barely spot underneath the gauze. There were butterfly bandages on his forehead and even some stitch-work on his upper bicep. Upon closer inspection, the work wasn't just sloppily patched together, either. It was legit, crafted carefully and with precision.

Whoever had done it had taken considerable care.

As he stared into the mirror, stared at the handiwork, Steve found his eyes slowly begin to take in what else was in the mirror: the rest of the room. He carefully twisted around.

Nothing about it really seemed all that suspicious. There was a shower in the corner, a tub against the wall, and a sink opposite that. It was just...a bathroom. Question was... _why_ was he in a bathroom?

Actually, he had numerous questions. Who had done this? Why had they taken the time to treat him themselves instead of taking him to a hospital? Were they trying to keep him out of trouble? If so, then why? What was there to gain in all of this? And most importantly, _where was he?_ How long had he been out? Hopefully too much time hadn't passed since he'd left the warehouse, since he'd last talked to-

_Natasha._

Steve instinctively lifted a hand to his ear, cursing under his breath as he found no piece. His communicator must have fallen off during the skirmish, otherwise Natasha would have already tracked him and hunted him down herself, most likely to give him an earful for missing his check-in time.

He sighed and leaned up against the sink, shutting his eyes as he tried to push down the ringing in his ears and the heavy pressure building up against his head. He clenched his fingers around the smooth surface as the wave of nausea built up and slowly settled as the ringing died down.

Shaking anymore distracting thoughts from his head, Steve pushed down the pain and the nagging questions. He had to focus.

He glanced around the room again, hoping to find any clues, any markers as to where he was. The room was fairly dark, the only source of light coming from the one right above the shower. The rest were off, leaving him in a state of semi-darkness. But it did allow the light coming in from the window to stick out even more, enough for Steve to finally notice its existence. He quickly rushed over, pressing his fingers into the wall as he stared out.

There weren't any high-rises present. No packed streets and bustling cars so he definitely wasn't in Manhattan. The dark streets and low-level buildings that seemed to surround the window led him to believe he was still in Queens.

_Queens..._

Wait a minute.

_("You got heart, kid. Where you from?")_

Spider-Man.

Was this his doing? Had he taken him somewhere? Maybe dropped him off at a safe location? If so, then where was _he?_ Was he alright? Had Steve managed to push him far enough away from the collapse?

The new influx of questions made another stab of pain pierce through his head, thudding right behind his eyes. He groaned, pressed his hand into his face before dragging them down, eyes narrowing.

He had to get out of here.

He glanced back over towards the window, realizing with a frown that it was too small for him to just slid through unnoticed. And he wasn't sure he wanted to go smashing holes before he really had a grasp on where he was. If someone really _had_ helped him out of the goodness of their heart, destroying their bathroom didn't seem like the best way to repay them.

His eyes flitted towards the door at the far end of the room. He only hesitated for a second before making his way over. Pressing his ear against the wood, he could vaguely hear the sound of voices, but they were faint, distant. They most likely were in a different room altogether, which meant if he wanted to make a move, now was the best time to do it.

Steve wrapped his fingers around the handle and carefully turned the knob, only slightly surprised that it wasn't locked before gingerly pushing the door open and peering through the crack.

The room was dark, too dark for him to really make out anything through the sliver of the door. So with one last glance behind him, Steve took a breath, tensed his fist, and carefully pushed the door open all the way. The light from the bathroom was dim, but it was enough to illuminate the room just a tad, enough for him to see, at least.

The bedroom was fairly large with all the practical elements: bed, dresser, desk. There was a pair of glass doors against the side wall that seemed to lead out to a balcony. But despite its apparent normalcy, something about the room felt...off.

There were no posters on the walls. No clothes or shoes littered the floor. The desk was neat and wiped clean. The covers to the bed were pristine and plain, no patterns or designs on any of them. Even the garbage bin was empty, not a scrap of paper or gum wrapper inside. Nothing about the room felt _'lived-in',_ like it was a fake, a model.

Steve felt something strange begin to churn in his stomach, an unsettling feeling that he initially mistook for nausea.

He clenched his fists, body suddenly swept up by the overwhelming feeling that only ever came right before a fight. His muscles were tensing, his adrenaline beginning to burn. There was something wrong here, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

_THUD._

Steve jumped, whipped around towards the door. The voices were louder now, but they weren't closer. Shouting? There were a lot of them too, so not just one person. A group? A family? This was definitely somebody's home, the question was _whose?_

There was laughter now. A lot of it. And thumping, like footsteps. They were light, not heavy or weighted. Somebody small...a woman? A kid? Whoever it was, they were fast approaching. Steve glanced back towards the open bathroom door, only made it about two steps before the door was swinging open and somebody was leaping through, slamming it shut again with a resounding _bang._

Steve froze, eyes trailed on the figure that had just entered. They were leaning against the door, back pressing into the wood as they gasped and panted in ragged bouts of air, like they'd been running for a while. He could hear the sound of their heartbeat, loud and erratic, pumping so loud and so fast that Steve wondered if he would have been able to hear it even _without_ his super senses.

The figure didn't move, didn't turn to look at him, seemed to be too preoccupied with catching their breath. Steve squinted his eyes, tried to make out the figure's face, but the light from the bathroom wasn't shining in that direction, leaving their face in shadow.

The soldier glanced backwards again, wondered if maybe he could slip back into the backroom unnoticed and figure something else out later, only for the floor to creak as his foot shifted, causing the figure to whip their head up, eyes catching the barest hint of light as they gleamed.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, neither moving, neither making a sound. Now that they were facing him, Steve could make out the figure just a little better. Their face was still in shadow, but he could make out the lithe outlines of their body and the shrunken-in, tiny form, no taller than his shoulder.

It was a kid...a boy.

Steve swallowed, throat suddenly dry as he stared back at him.

"Um, do you...know who I am?"

. . .

Silence. Staring. A nod.

"Okay...how did I get here?"

. . .

"Can you tell me where I am?"

. . .

"Can you tell me your name?"

. . .

"Can you tell me _anything?"_

More silence. More staring. Steve sighed.

Another _thud_ sounded from downstairs, causing the teen to flinch back against the wall. Even with the thick shadows enveloping most of him, Steve could make out the tenseness of the kid's muscles, the tight posture of his body. He was nervous.

"Who else lives here?"

More silence. Steve was getting tired of this.

"Kid you have to give me something here-"

"Don't call me that."

The words were soft, but they were spoken with a sudden swiftness that made Steve's jaw shut. He blinked, ran them back in his head. "What?"

"Don't call me kid. You don't...you don't get to call me that."

He knew that voice. He'd heard that voice before. But...could that really be? Could this really be _him?_

He knew Spider-Man had to be involved somehow, otherwise he'd still be in that alleyway, or worse, in police custody. So it wasn't too far-fetched to believe the vigilante would take him somewhere he trusted, somewhere he thought was safe. But to take him to his _own_ house...would he really do that?

"Okay...sorry. I won't. What _can_ I call you then?"

More silence. Very _unlike_ Spider-Man.

Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, trying to make out more details of the boy from his place in the shadows. He seemed similar enough to what he'd seen of the vigilante, a hero that leaned a little on the small side. But...had he really been _that_ small in the alleyway? Had Steve really not noticed?

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was just the dark. There was no way Spider-Man was _that_ small, not when he packed so much of a punch. There was no way he sounded so young. It was just his concussion making everything a little warped. There was no way Spider-Man was just a kid.

There was no way this was Spider-Man.

He lifted his arm. "Did you do this? Did you treat these wounds?"

More silence. This kid wasn't much of a talker. _Definitely_ not Spider-Man, then. Germany might have been months ago, but he could still remember the motor-mouth that guy had.

"That takes a lot of skill. You're pretty talented." Steve took a small step forward, tried to make out _anything_ in the teen's face.

Instantly, the boy picked up on the movement as he shifted away, a sharp intake of air sliding through his teeth as he grimaced. Immediately shifting into concern, the man took another step forward. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Back off." It was quiet, just like everything else. But there was a certain edge to the voice, a flash of something else. Steve held up his hands, imagined the kid was most likely a little shaken over the fact that an Avenger was standing before him.

"It's okay. I just want to see."

The boy growled, an audible snap of noise that made Steve pause. "I said _back off!_ Stay away from me!" He leaned further back against the door, as far from Steve as he could get.

The soldier furrowed his brow, overcome with a wave of confusion and an unsettling feeling in his stomach. "I'm not...going to hurt you. I'm just concerned."

A scoff. The kid actually _scoffed._

Steve stopped and took a small step back, the feeling in his stomach strengthening. "What? You don't believe me?"

The boy glanced away, Steve barely able to make out the outlines of his face. "Frankly, no. I don't. I don't think you _can_ care for anybody, other than yourself of course." The kid turned back towards him, eyes gleaming again, but with something different this time. "That's what's most important, right?"

Steve sucked in a breath, blinking for a second before huffing an air of disbelief. "Excuse me?" Was this kid serious right now?

Another _thud_ echoed from downstairs, this one louder than before. The boy glanced behind him, posture still as stiff as before. The soldier narrowed his eyes and took another step forward, causing the kid's head to whip back around.

"Who's downstairs?"

"None of your business," he hissed.

Steve gritted his teeth, swallowing down a wince as his head throbbed. He was confused, he was tired, and he was in pain. He was _so_ not in the mood to deal with some teenager with a grudge.

_("I shouldn't be here? I'm not the one with a warrant on their head and a penchant for blowing up buildings.")_

A teenager who _definitely_ didn't sound familiar.

His eyes locked on the door and he started for it again, only for the boy to press his back against it like his life depended on it.

"I said _back off!_ Get away from me!"

Steve growled and lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm _not_ going to hurt you! Why would I hurt you?" he sighed in exasperation.

"I don't know. I don't know why you do half of the things you do."

He opened his mouth again, most likely to retort something as his levels of composure began to dwindle, only for his eyes to catch on something.

Despite the darkness encroaching around the teen, Steve could still make out a few details, like the way his body balanced against the door, not just out of apprehension, but out of...pain? He narrowed his eyes, leaned in closer.

The kid was limping, one foot elevated just a tad above the ground.

"Are you...?" His eyes lifted. "You're hurt." Immediately pushing all thought aside, he focused on the teen who obviously needed help right now. He could ask questions later. This took priority. He moved forward, only for the boy to begin moving along the wall to maintain their distance.

"Stop!"

"Let me help you."

"Don't! Don't come any closer."

"Kid-"

"Don't _call_ me that!"

Steve slapped his hands down against his sides. " _Fine!_ Then tell me your name!"

_"WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THAT NOISE?!"_

They both jumped at the loud shout, the kid's head shooting towards the door again.

"N-nothing! I'm just...it's nothing!"

_"WELL SHUT THE FUCK UP! WE'RE TRYING TO WORK!"_

The teen's eyes were locked on the door, his attention, his focus, all away from Steve. The soldier thought fast, reaching forward and latching a hand onto the kid's wrist before yanking him into the light.

The boy yelped as he was suddenly spun around, but Steve barely heard it, for all of his attention was on the kid's face.

He'd seen it before.

Peter Parker still had the same pale skin, the same mop of curly brown hair that fell down around his forehead and the same bright brown eyes that he'd seen in the magazine. But his nose hadn't been bleeding in the magazine. His face hadn't been red with the early traces of bruising in the magazine. He hadn't looked so scared in the magazine.

The magazine with Tony Stark. The magazine with the man who had _recruited_ Spider-Man. The magazine with the man who had never been fond of children before and would only ever socialize with one if he already had a previous relationship established, a prior setting of contact, say...an airport in Germany. The magazine that proved everything right before his eyes.

"Oh my god. _You're_ Spider-Man?"

Peter's eyes stretched even wider if possible and he was suddenly clawing at Steve's grip on his arm, but the soldier, in his haze of thoughts, barely even felt it. "How can _you_ be Spider-Man? The papers said you were fourteen. I...you can't be Spider-Man. You're just a kid." He leaned closer. " _You're a kid!"_ The words almost burned his tongue as he said them.

"Let _go_ of me!" Peter shouted, finally wrenching himself out of the man's grasp before hastily backing away, clutching his arm tightly against his chest as he stared back at Steve like he was a wild animal. And Steve almost _felt_ like one, his mind was running crazy.

 _"HEY! WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST_ SAY?!"

Peter spared another glance at the door behind him before his eyes were locking back onto Steve. The soldier paced.

"You're a kid. You're _goddamn_ kid! I fought a kid. I...I dropped a fucking jet bridge on a kid."

The boy narrowed his eyes just a tad, kept backing up step by step. He dropped his gaze to the floor and gritted his teeth. "I told you not to call me that." His voice was quiet, but his tone was bitter.

Steve stopped in his tracks, mind reeling as each breath seemed to get smaller and smaller, faster and faster with each passing moment, each notch of realization. "Wait a minute...Tony. Tony recruited you, didn't he?"

Suddenly Peter wasn't backing up anymore. His eyes shot towards the soldier and his arms dropped away from his chest, which straightened up just a bit as his jaw tightened. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?" His voice was hard, a cold flint edge lacing the words. Steve barreled right past it.

"He...did he know how old you were? Did...did he even ask?" The disbelief, the fear that had settled in his chest was turning into something else now, something hotter. His fists began to clench at his sides. "I can't believe this."

"Hey...don't you go getting any wrong ideas, now," Peter growled, glaring hard at him.

Steve brushed it off. "The whole time he lectures me on responsibility, on owning up to my actions and he recruits a fourteen-year-old? He...h-he...my God."

"Leave it alone, would you? It doesn't matter!"

"It doesn't matter? He enlisted a fucking _child_ to fight against trained assassins, that egotistical son of a bitch actually-"

"HEY!" Suddenly Peter was right in his face, Steve's jaw locking shut as the boy's eyes blazed. "You better shut your mouth before you say something you regret, you arrogant self-righteous _bastard!"_

_. . ._

And he did. His mouth shut right down at the sheer _anger_ in the boy's words, more out of shock than anything else. For a second, the two just stared at each other, Peter's eyes seeming to gleam with a certain hatred that Steve was only familiar with in people who were usually trying to kill him.

What the hell had he done to this kid to warrant such a look?

Before he could ponder the question anymore, his ears picked up the sound of footsteps. Heavy, nothing like Peter's. These were strong and fast and _angry_. Peter must have picked up on them as well, for his head whipped towards the door and a rushed puff of air escaped his lips, a frantic inhale that added to the fear now overtaking the anger in his face.

"You...you have to hide. Now. He... _they_ can't find you here!" he rushed out, eyes shooting to the open bathroom door. Steve shook his head and opened his mouth, more plumes of confusion rising up in him. But before he could voice any of his thoughts, Peter's hands were on him, shoving him towards the bathroom and _damn_ the kid was strong.

Hard to deny the facts now.

"Peter-"

"Listen to me." The teen's voice was terse now, steady, leaving no room for argument. "You have to stay in there and keep the door closed. Don't come out no matter what you hear."

"What-

" _No matter what,"_ he hissed, fisting a handful of Steve's shirt. The soldier was just able to make out the shakiness of the kid's grip, enough to know he wasn't fooling around. The footsteps were closer now. He spared the boy one last apprehensive look before stepping into the bathroom. He moved to close the door, only to stop it right as it was about to shut completely. He hesitated for a moment before carefully leaving a crack open, a little sliver for him to peer through.

There wasn't a second to spare, for as soon as Steve was in position, the door to the room was flying open with a loud _bang_. Peter winced and whirled around to face the newcomer, a _hulking_ figure out a man that seemed to fill the entire doorway. He had dark skin and a multitude of tattoos running up his arms and around his neck. His posture was still and his face held an air of disgust and annoyance. He held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders, staring the kid down _hard._

"What the fuck is going on up here?"

Peter held his shaking hands behind his back, body so stiff and so tight, Steve was sure he was about to explode. His voice was level as he spoke though. "Like I said. Nothing. I'm just...talking to myself."

The man held his gaze for a moment, startling blue eyes seeming to pierce straight through the kid. His muscles rippled beneath his shirt and his stance held an air of intimidating power. Steve felt a chill roll over his skin as he detected an unmistakable air of danger that seemed to radiate off of the man. Peter seemed to notice the aura as well, for Steve saw the slight twitching of his fingers.

The man clicked his tongue and slowly shut the door behind him, the loud creak seeming to echo around the walls in an unsettling wave. Peter didn't move, didn't let his eyes stray away from the man as he began to walk forward, brushing past the teen as he did so. "Talking to yourself, huh?"

His voice was deep, a smooth lull of low undertones, laced with a hint of suspicion. Steve watched him with narrowed eyes, a sinking feeling of distrust and inexplicable aggression bubbling inside him. Peter watched as the man began to walk around the room. "Thought I heard voices."

"There's nobody here, Max."

The man cast the boy a glance from over his shoulder, giving him a quick once-over. He quirked a brow and turned back around. "Uh-huh."

With that, - _Max_ , apparently - began to stalk around the room, eyes peeled and gaze deliberate as he tried to pick apart anything that seemed to be out of place. Peter stayed off to the side as the man searched, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Steve noticed he began to shift his weight back and forth between his feet, glancing away uncomfortably. "Thought you guys were supposed to be gone all night," he said softly, watching as Max stared out the balcony doors, peering around the outdoor space before pulling back.

Max wasn't easily distracted, though. "Why? You disappointed?" He threw the kid a piercing stare. Peter squirmed under his gaze, ducking his head again.

"No. Of...course not."

The man went back to searching, opening up the closet door and peering inside before bending down to search underneath the bed. Steve watched with a baffled shake of the head. What was this guy's problem?

Peter sighed, seemed to be growing antsier the longer the man stayed. "Come on, Max. Just give it up. There's nothing. I-"

"Hey." The man swiftly held up his hand, pointing it towards the boy with a hard glare. "Did I ask you to speak?"

The teen stopped, took a small step back as he swallowed. "No."

"Then why are you?"

He bit his lower lip, dropped his gaze, and stared down at the floor. He didn't say anything else.

Max nodded and went back to searching. "That's better. You're slippin' ya know. You need to tighten that lip of yours, screw that jaw back up tight. Last thing you want is to start getting a tongue, you feel me?" The man rose back up his feet and gave the room one last scan before setting his sights on the bathroom door.

 _Shit._ Steve muttered to himself as he discreetly shifted behind the door, careful not to reveal anything through the crack. He could hear Max's heavy footsteps beginning to approach, his fists clenching as they grew. Something told him his discovery wouldn't be met with much pleasure.

"Why? Worried I'll make you sound stupid if I do?"

The footsteps froze with a startled jolt. Steve's eyes widened at the comment, jaw slacking as he blinked in shock. The footsteps shifted and Steve took the time to peer through the crack in the door again. He noticed Peter standing off to the side. His arms were crossed over his chest now and he was standing up a little straighter, staring at Max with a rebellious glint in his eyes that hadn't been present two seconds ago.

Said man faced off against the teen with a new stiffness to his body. He stared down at him, boring his eyes into the boy's face with such intensity, Steve swore he could hear them sizzling in his skull. "Excuse me?" His voice was dark and held a certain strain, like a string being pulled taut.

Peter stared at the man with a cocked brow, though Steve could pick up the sound of the kid's heart beating at a million miles per second. The anxiety didn't show on the teen's face as he shrugged. "I mean, you're - _what?_ A high school drop-out? Probably wouldn't take much to make you sound like a dunce." He stuffed his hands back into his pockets to hide the shiver in his hands and smirked at the man. "Just gotta use words that have more than three syllables."

Steve's chest was tightening, his hand lifting to grip the inner doorframe. _What the hell are you doing, kid?_ He watched with bated breath as Max slowly stalked forward - _away_ from the bathroom door, Steve realized. Each step sounded heavier than the last, his movements slow and precise.

Surprisingly, Max's face split into a grin as he continued to approach, a laugh of sorts bubbling out of his mouth. "Oh my god. Oh my _fucking_ god." He lifted his hands, curled his fingers in a _'bring it'_ motion. "Come on. Keep going. Keep talking. I wanna hear it. Go on, let's go."

Despite the humor playing on his voice, Steve could detect the thin splice of fury underneath, hidden by chuckles and an encouraging laugh. If the way Peter's heartbeat picked up even more was any sign, the kid noticed it too. But he didn't stop. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

"You sure you'll be able to keep up?"

Silence. A thick, uncomfortable silence that added to the tension suffocating the room. Steve didn't breathe, was too focused on the scene playing out. Dread pooled in his gut, thick and heavy, threatening to weigh him down completely.

Max smiled, gave a small nod of his head. "Oh, that's...that's good."

Without any warning, he lunged forward, wrapping his beefy hands around the kid's shoulders and slammed him into the mirror hanging off the closet door. Peter's head slammed into the glass with a _thud_ and a yelp, the mirror shattering into a million pieces that clattered to the floor. Steve sucked in a startled gasp, thankful the sound of the shattering mirror covered up the noise.

Max reached down and latched onto the boy's throat, hoisting him up into the air and slamming him into the cracked mess that once used to be the mirror. Peter gasped as he wrapped his own hands around Max's, the man leaning closer as he narrowed his eyes. "You got a death wish tonight or something because I _know_ you did not just call me stupid?"

 _"Don't."_ Peter choked out, feet kicking against the wall as he tried to find any leverage to alleviate the pressure pressing down on his throat. Steve narrowed his eyes, felt his teeth grind together, muscles coiled as he readied to spring through the door.

But as he readied to attack, the man caught sight of Peter's frightened gaze.

The teen wasn't staring at Max, his eyes deviated slightly to the left, gazed over the man's shoulder, and stared straight at Steve. The soldier held Peter's gaze as he swallowed, muscles tight and fists clenched. The boy's eyes crinkled slightly, but they didn't leave Steve's face, not until the man slowly began to piece together what the kid was trying to communicate.

_Don't._

He wasn't talking to Max. He was talking to _Steve_...telling him not to interfere. Steve sucked in a shaky breath, hands beginning to tremble against the doorframe. He couldn't just _stand_ there!

But Peter wasn't focusing on him anymore. He was staring back at Max as the man spoke, voice clipped and terse. "See...the only stupid one here is you for thinking you could start mouthing off like that." Peter gasped as the hand tightened around his throat. "So how about I break that fucking neck of your, huh, bitch? You wanna keep talking? Go ahead. Try it. Go on, you wanna keep going?"

Peter sucked in a choked breath, shut his eyes, and clenched his jaw.

"N-no."

Max remained silent for a moment before his face twisted into a sinister snarl, hand clenching tighter around the teen's throat. "Well, I do."

Steve felt the wood splintering in his grip, but he couldn't seem to let go. His knuckles were turning white and his feet itched to move. He pressed his hand against the door, seconds away from bursting out and bashing the man's head into the wall just like he'd done to the kid.

Peter flitted his gaze back over to him, but Steve ignored it as he began to push the door open.

_Screw it. And screw this guy._

" _MAX! WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING SO LONG, MAN?!"_

Max paused. Steve did too.

Max glared over his shoulder at the bedroom door, curling his lip in annoyance as he growled before turning back towards Peter. The teen's face was growing red as he sputtered in the man's grasp. He scoffed and threw the kid a disgusted glare. "You lucky fuck. You better hope I don't remember this when we finish up down there or I'll come back up here and fix that mouth of yours myself, you got that?"

He dropped Peter down into the shards of glass below, the teen gasping and coughing violently as he lifted a hand to his throat. Max didn't seem satisfied with the boy's lack of response, for he stooped down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back up.

"Answer, _bitch_."

Peter winced, eyes scrunching in pain as his face twisted. "Y-yes, sir." His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the answer seemed good enough for Max, for he dropped the kid back down and stared at him in disdain, giving a shake of his head as he spat on the floor.

"Fucking ridiculous," he muttered under his breath as he stormed back over to the door, slamming it shut so forcefully the entire room seemed to shake.

For a brief, agonizing moment, Steve stayed where he was behind the door, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps mingling with the noise of labored breathing coming from the kid he'd just let get brutalized in front of him.

_Some hero..._

The second he was sure the footsteps were truly gone, he burst through the door and immediately rushed to him. He made to kneel down, only to pause as he took in the glass still littering the floor. He hissed before quickly shrugging off his jacket, bunching it up in his hands and dragging it along the floor to clean it as much as possible before dropping to the ground next to the teen.

Peter didn't make any indication that he knew the man was there, just kept his head down and one hand wrapped protectively around his throat, the other pressing down into the glass pile below, like he didn't even know it was there. His eyes were shut tight and each breath of air seemed to rattle dangerously in his chest.

The soldier lifted his hands, hesitated for a moment as he wondered whether the teen was even going to let him help. Still, he wasn't about to just sit there and do nothing again, no matter what the kid wanted this time. So with a small breath, he scooted closer. "Peter? Hey, can you hear me? It's Steve - _err_...Captain Rogers."

No response. More breathing.

"Hey, if you can hear me, I'm just gonna try and assess the damage, alright?"

He waited for a minute, but again there was no response. Peter just seemed to scrunch his eyes tighter and turned his head away slightly, shifting his legs against the glass, the sound of clinking and grinding making Steve wince. He took a breath before slowly reaching a hand out to rest on the boy's shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt a hand shove into his chest so violently, he actually fell back onto his elbows and elicited a loud grunt of pain, eyes widening as Peter whipped his head up. The kid's eyes were bright and aggressive, tinged with a glaze of fear and pain as his face curled into a growl. Steve couldn't help but blink with his jaw hanging open slightly as he stared back at the boy. That shove had hurt, like... _actually_ hurt.

Just how strong was this kid?

Slowly, the glaze against the teen's eyes began to fade as he seemed to register the fact that it was only Steve. Peter held the man's gaze for a moment longer before dropping his head back down with a low exhale, groaning loudly as he slowly began to push himself up. "Got to say..." he started off softly, voice hoarse and raspy. "...didn't really expect you to hold out." He winced as he brushed some of the glass away before leaning back against the wall, sighing loudly as he met Steve's eyes again. "Thanks for that."

Steve analyzed the teen's words, tried to see if there was some sort of sarcastic gibe in them. Maybe the boy was angry at him for not intervening. But surprisingly, the comment was sincere. The kid was...thankful? Steve felt his throat go dry as he tried to swallow.

"You...you antagonized him...on purpose." It wasn't a question. Peter didn't take it as such. Instead, he just shrugged, tilted his head down, and spat out a wad of blood-mingled saliva onto the carpet.

"It would have been a lot worse if he found you."

Steve actually felt himself get angry at that, glaring down at the glass. "Worse than thi-"

" _Yes,_ " Peter said, voice cold and hard as a new aggravated look entered his eyes, as if he was challenging Steve to keep arguing. Realizing the subject was as touchy as one could get, Steve reluctantly decided to save it for later.

Now that Peter's head wasn't drooping, Steve could make out each and every bleeding scratch on him, over his nose, on his cheeks, his forehead. There was a long trail of blood that dripped down the side of his face, beading off little drops onto his shoulder. It matched the bloody nose he still had, now complete with a split lower lip as well. He also had numerous little shards of glass embedded into his palm, his legs, and probably even his back from when he'd been shoved into the already-broken mirror. Steve's eyes traced the bruise beginning to blossom behind the kid's eye, the bruise he'd entered the room with.

Steve knew those injuries. They were the same scars, the same bruises he used to get after his back-alley beatdowns. Same split lip, defiant gleam, tense posture. It was like staring into a mirror, staring right back at his scrawny little defenseless face, a face that seemed to have a penchant for black eyes and a habit of cleaning himself up.

Something told him this kid was used to cleaning himself up, too. His jaw tensed at the idea.

Peter shifted against the wall again as he attempted to get up. He stumbled, however, quickly falling back down onto his hands and knees with a hiss of pain. Steve immediately rushed forward with his hands extended.

"Here, let me-"

" _Don't,"_ Peter snapped, throwing another harsh glare at the man. Steve paused, slowly retracting his hands as Peter dropped his head. "Just don't."

Steve swallowed, thick and heavy as he slowly leaned away. There was a feeling building up in his stomach, a strange churning that made a restless itch travel through his muscles, a sickening pool of unease that had him scrunching his face as he watched the teen slowly push himself up to his feet, grimacing and swallowing down his groans of pain the entire time.

And suddenly the soldier began to understand why Bucky would always get so angry at him after his little fights, his daily skirmishes. He could see it now. It hadn't been anger on his friend's face back then as he traced over each of Steve's wounds, each bleeding scrape and throbbing lump. It was concern...the same concern Steve most likely had written on his own face, different from the rebellious, defiant look he'd usually shoot at his friend whenever he was scolded for his fights.

Maybe this was karma.

Finally, Peter stood, brushing a hand against his temple. His fingers came back wet as he touched the trail of blood dripping down the side of his face. The kid didn't look angry or upset as he stared at his red fingertips, just tired. He sighed as he dragged his eyes over towards the door. "We can't talk here," he murmured more to himself than to Steve, not even bothering to look at said man as he brushed past him. The soldier could tell the boy was trying to hide the limp in his step as he walked over to the balcony, and he was honestly doing a fairly good job.

_Practice..._

Another churn of the stomach. Another plume of unease.

Peter opened up the balcony doors and motioned for Steve to follow. The soldier glanced back over his shoulder at the door to the room before following the kid out.

The teen didn't seem content with the added distance the balcony provided, however, as he moved over towards the side of the balcony and eyed the attached fire escape. He hopped onto the edge of the railing (much to Steve's dismay) and expertly leapt off, hands catching the edge of the metal structure as he did so. He didn't look at Steve as he climbed, not even as he disappeared over the top edge of the roof.

Steve couldn't help the small scoff of disbelief that fell from his lips before shaking his head and walking over to the edge. Not being as nimble as his counterpart, it took a little more maneuvering, but he was quickly able to catch himself on the fire escape. After that, it was a short climb to the roof, where Peter was already getting himself situated.

He was currently couched down next to what looked to be a large air conditioning unit. Peter laced his fingers around the edge of a panel and pulled it off, revealing the small empty space behind it. Careful of the actual mechanical wires of the unit, the teen grabbed a duffel bag and pulled it out of the box, quickly unzipping it as he set it on the floor.

Steve carefully walked over as Peter began to pull gauze, bandages, and towels out of the bag. "You have _two_ first aid kits?"

"Three actually."

"Why?"

"Convenience." The teen didn't look up from his work as he pulled out a long brown towel, draping it over one shoulder while he maneuvered a pair of tweezers into his non-bloody hand. He didn't waste any time in searching for glass shards as he hopped on top of the air conditioning box, heels banging softly against the metal. "I brought you up here to talk, so we're gonna talk." He dabbed the towel against his bloody palm and dropped it down next to him, lifting his eyes to stare at the soldier. "What were you doing in Queens?"

Steve didn't say anything at first. For some reason, a niggling seed of apprehension still hung heavy in his gut.

Maybe it was the fact that the last time he'd seen Spider-Man, they'd been fighting against each other in a crumbling airport. Of course, he was still having some trouble wrapping his head around the fact that this tiny kid could somehow be the web-shooting, crime-fighting spider that he kept hearing about. Another spark of anger ignited in his chest at the sheer audacity of Stark, but he forced it down. Now was not the time to be losing his head.

Peter noticed his hesitations and narrowed his eyes. "You owe me answers." The kid's voice wasn't necessarily demanding, just matter-of-fact. Steve couldn't really disagree considering he was standing on a rooftop and not holed up at the police station.

He sighed and folded his arms, now sort of regretting his idea to take off his jacket now that the biting wind was beginning to seep into his skin. "There've been some weapons going around the city, _illegal_ weapons. Somehow, people are getting their hands on alien tech and are manufacturing new weapons out of it, weapons that can really cause some damage if tonight was any indication."

Peter pinched the tweezers against a shard of glass and slowly pulled it out of his palm. He didn't look at Steve as he spoke. "I heard about that. Your friend told me about it...Mr. Wilson." He dropped the shard next to him and took a breath, glancing away. "I...I've seen that tech around the city, even had a similar explosion to deal with not too long ago but...I didn't know it was alien tech." He shook his head and turned back to his hand, pinching the tweezers around another shard in his finger. "How are they even getting access to it? Isn't that something the government would be dealing with?"

Steve moved to lean against the conditioning unit, sighing as he did so. "It is. Somehow they're bypassing all of the security measures and swiping it right out from under their noses."

Peter pulled another shard out, wiping the towel across the dot of blood that pricked up. "Sounds a bit too sophisticated for common street thugs."

"We thought so too. So we've been investigating. I was staking out a supposed manufacturing plant here in Queens." Steve gazed out across the buildings, trying to take note of where he was. "When I got there, it was already vacated. But as I was leaving, I happened to stumble upon those robbers. Safe to say, they weren't very happy to see me."

The teen scoffed. "Yeah, they aren't really big fans of the supers." He pulled another shard and dropped it down before his brow furrowed and his head was lifting. "Wait, but...that doesn't explain why you're still doing this?"

Steve turned and threw the teen a strange look. "What do you mean?"

Peter chewed on his cheek as he peered back down at his hand. He brushed the towel against his palm again, but it was slower this time, more...distracted. "I mean why are you bothering with this? You...you aren't Avengers anymore," he murmured in a low tone of voice.

The soldier stared back at him for a minute, turning away with a deep breath. "Just because the world isn't showering us with praise and adoration anymore doesn't mean we still can't do the right thing."

Despite the mindsets of his teammates, Steve hadn't had many doubts about their missions. The danger and the present threat of the looming government body _did_ warrant cause for hesitations, sure. But Steve had never actually considered _stopping_. Just because the world had turned their backs on them didn't mean he had to stop trying to do good.

Steve jumped, however, at the sound of a harsh scoff. He turned back towards Peter, who was now giving a small shake of his head. "Right, cause you're just _such_ a good person," he muttered, lifting his leg to lay overtop his knee, revealing the small spots of blood that came from the extra shards embedded in the limb.

The soldier narrowed his eyes and slowly pushed off of the conditioning unit, turning so that he was now fully facing the teen. He watched Peter begin to pick shards out of his calf. The task seeming so menial, so trivial and ordinary, like the kid wasn't bothered by it at all.

But Steve was bothered by it.

"Is there any particular reason why you hate me so much?"

Peter stopped working at that, lifting his head to stare back at the man. His eyes were sharp and cold and seemed to bore a hole straight through Steve's forehead from the sheer intensity smoldering within, a sense of barely restrained resentment tinged at the edges of his irises, burning deep and dark.

"Yeah. There is."

The man tapped his fingers against the side of his leg. "If that's the case then why did you bother to save me?"

Peter's face pinched in annoyance and he glared back down at his leg. "I don't know."

"You could have left me in that alleyway and been done with it. So why didn't you? Why did you help me?"

"I don't _know,"_ the teen growled, roughly pulling out the last shard and wincing at the spurt of blood that followed. He angrily grabbed the towel and slammed it against his leg. He slowed, took a breath, eyes crinkling around the edges. "I...I don't know. I guess I just..." He seemed to hesitate, tracing his fingers against the cloth before his eyes twitched. "I guess I just don't want to be like _you_."

And the sheer scorn in his words, the disdain in his voice finally hit a nerve as Steve straightened up to his full height. "What's that supposed to mean, son?" His voice was hard, laced with a hint of anger.

Peter must have picked up on the shift in the soldier's tone, for his posture instantly shifted to the defensive, shoulders hunching and muscles coiling as if he was preparing for a blatant attack. Steve backed down...if only slightly.

Despite his wariness, however, Peter didn't hold back in his words, though Steve noticed a newfound shakiness to the kid's hands. "I don't want to be the kind of person who just leaves someone alone by themselves, especially when they obviously need my help." The teen clenched his fists. "The kind of person who just leaves them alone to fend for themselves just to save my own skin."

He glared right at Steve as he said it, causing the soldier to furrow his brows, the sheer specificity making him pause for a brief second before the shot of realization finally hit, sending an uneasy chill all throughout his veins and added a new tightness to his chest. He exhaled a long, slow breath that seemed to hang heavy in the air around him.

" _Stark_..."

Peter's face somehow got harsher. "Yeah. You remember him? I know it might have slipped your mind what with all the fun you've been having beating up thugs and demolishing buildings."

 _Great. A groupie._ Steve thought to himself. The last thing he needed was to get into a fist-fight with one of Stark's loyalists, especially one who had probably gotten all sorts of misinformation drilled into his head. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Look, Peter. I know you probably feel pretty loyal to Tony. I get that. So no doubt you'd believe anything and everything he says to you. But you're only hearing one side, son. He's spinning this so he comes out infallible, untouchable."

His anger was returning. It was a bit harder to push down this time. Stark was basically brainwashing a perfectly impressionable kid just to fit his own personal agenda. Because of _course_ he was. Apparently nothing was too low for him.

"We both made mistakes, you know. Tony-"

"Tony already told me that," Peter cut in with a sharp look. "He told me how you both made mistakes right before he tried to convince me that he was even more responsible for the Avengers breaking up than you were."

At that, the words died in Steve's throat, replaced with a poignant sense of shock. He opened his mouth, only to close it again as he found no response. He took a step back, face tightening and eyes narrowing in confusion as he tried again. "He...he took responsibility?" It was hard to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Yeah. He did. That _'egotistical son of a bitch'_ tried to convince me that you were once a good person." Peter scoffed and turned his head away. "Personally, I don't see it."

Steve didn't say anything for a moment, too busy trying to process everything.

He knew Stark. He knew his tendencies. He was capable of claiming responsibility for his past failures, sure. He'd admitted his culpability surrounding Ultron in Berlin. But for him to actively strive to set people straight about what happened? To claim responsibility in front of someone like Spider-Man, someone who probably would have believed _anything_ Tony said? And not only that, but for him to _defend_ Steve to his own protégé?

It was...surprising to say the least. Unexpected.

Peter drummed his fingers against the top of the air conditioning unit before pushing himself off. Steve watched in silence as the kid wiped the towel against his head, clearing it of the blood as best he could before tossing it back onto the floor. He reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a roll of bandages. He started to turn away again, but faltered before he fully could, gently tapping the roll against his arm as he pressed his tongue into his cheek.

"You know...there was a time I would have been gushing at your feet if I'd met you, showering you with praise." He gestured with the bandages at Steve, who said nothing as the boy spoke. "Come on, you're Steve Rogers. Captain America. You're a living legend. Every kid's hero.

This time he _did_ turn away, used his teeth to rip off a section of bandage before he began to gently wrap them around his palm. He didn't bother to look up from his work as he spoke again. "At least, you _were_...before everyone found out how much you _didn't deserve_ to be."

Steve sighed and turned away, shook his head as he pushed down the indignation that flared. This kid just didn't get it. "Look...you're angry. I get that. But you're only angry because you don't understand."

Peter scoffed again. It was starting to annoy him.

"It's _true_. You have no _idea_ the nuances in play here. All you know is what you've been _told._ And that's not the whole truth." Steve was tired of being harped on, tired of people looking down on him and his team just for doing what they thought was right.

The kid finished up with the wrapping and tossed the remaining bandages into the bag. Immediately after, he folded his arms and stared up at the man that definitely had a good foot and a half on him.

"Why didn't you sign?"

Steve faltered at that. "What?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know the whole truth? Fine. Then tell me. Explain it to me."

"I...that's-" This wasn't where he'd expected things to go.

"Come on." Peter threw his hands out. "Now's your chance to prove you're not just blowing hot air."

The soldier blinked down at him, narrowed his eyes as his air of composure wavered ever so slightly. "I don't have to prove anything to you, son."

To his surprise, Peter didn't seem angry at his response. He just lowered his hands back down to his sides. "You're right. You don't." He pointed out towards the glowing lights of Manhattan in the distance. "It's _them_ that need the proof, proof that you're not just some crooked hero who doesn't care about them. Cause that's what it looks like from where they're standing...from where _I'm_ standing."

Steve stared at him, at the teen who seemed so wary of him yet so ready to defy and challenge him at a moment's notice, like his anger for the Captain outweighed any fear he might have (and Steve was sure this kid probably had a lot).

Despite his desires to prove to the world that the Avengers weren't dangerous, that they were still a force for good, he'd never actually had to _do_ it before, never had to defend his actions in such an informal and yet so _personal_ manner. Still, Steve couldn't help the burning itch in his throat to explain his reasonings.

 _He_ knew why his actions were right. Maybe it was finally time for someone _else_ to know as well.

He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. It was cold as it swirled around his lungs. "I had to protect my team. The Accords...I knew from the start that they were dangerous. Some of the things they talked about: detainment indefinitely with no trial, required identity monitoring and DNA collection, board sanctions prior to any operative missions, no matter the severity. It was just..."

He clenched his fists, the same anger and resentment he'd felt the first time he'd read the Accords burning bright once again. "They took away our rights, treated us like weapons, like we weren't even people. I...I couldn't sign those papers, son. I couldn't just...relinquish our freedoms for the sake of - what? Making some politicians up on Capital Hill feel a little more secure in their mansions?

To his surprise, Peter _did_ seem to listen. The kid shook his head, stared down at the ground. "You think Mr. Stark could agree to that either?"

Steve felt his face twist in disgust. "Didn't he?"

"He signed the preliminary. But what do you think he's been doing this whole time? Not just chasing down one thug after another in an endless sea of criminals in the hopes of _maybe_ finding the source to a single weapons outpost. Watch the news. He's fighting for people like you, people like me, people who have the right to live freely without the fear of cameras looking over their shoulder."

Peter gestured to himself. "Why do you think I'm still able to go out there as Spider-Man every night? Cause those Accords you're so afraid of haven't been made official yet. Mr. Stark's fighting to revise them, a fight that would be going a lot easier if _you_ were there to back him up." His last words were accompanied by another pointed glare.

"See that's what this is, _Captain_. Compromise. You give a little, you take some in return."

"I understand that."

" _Do you?"_

Steve narrowed his eyes. " _Yes._ I do. But I also understand that not every scenario _has_ a compromise. Stark asked me to trust the same government that almost caused the deaths of over a hundred thousand people in DC, the same body that allowed a parasite like HYDRA to grow unchecked, grow strong enough to almost completely take over! You're telling me that they can be trusted to handle something like _'reigning in'_ the Avengers, that they can be trusted to _not_ abuse the same system they want to throw us in?"

Peter took a breath, let it out slowly, like he was trying to remain calm himself. "I get that you were uneasy with the Accords. I do. But your solution was to just shrug, turn your back and completely abandon any hope of reconciliation, of fixing the actual problem?" He shook his head and stared at the man in disbelief. "You just decided that placing all of the trust in yourself was good enough? What about Lagos? What about those people who died? Don't they deserve some guarantee that something like that will never happen again, that the Avengers will take responsibility and shape up?!"

Steve felt his fists clenching, felt the same burning seed of doubt that had first arisen after Lagos and buried it down the same way he had back then. He took a step forward. "If we _hadn't_ been there, those terrorists would have gotten away with a biological weapon that they could have used to wipe out _thousands_ of lives. We stopped that."

"You can't judge the _what-ifs_ , only what _did_ happen. And the fact of the matter is that you cost those people their lives." Peter's eyes burned with something a little darker as he continued. 'What, are you just saying they don't matter? That their lives meant nothing to you?"

Steve gritted his teeth, a burning building in his chest, breathless and hot. "Of course not! I..." He sucked in a sharp breath, stealing a glance away as he tried to compose himself, but this boy was pressing all the wrong buttons, itching underneath his skin. "Look, like it or not, you're a kid," he started sharply. "You haven't been around as long as we have. And I know you might want to stay in your little fantasy world where everything works out fine, but the rest of us don't have that luxury." He took another step. Peter, in return, took one back. "We had to grow out of it. And the fact of the matter is that in this line of work, you can't save everybody. You can try, but sometimes...sometimes you fail."

He paused, ceased his advance, and instead turned his gaze to stare out over the city, a heavier tone entering his voice, low and quiet. "Collateral is a part of every war. And every soldier must face that." The words burned his tongue. But he knew the truth behind them.

Peter, however, didn't seem content as he let out a harsh growl. "Except this _isn't_ war. And those people _aren't soldiers!"_

"But _we_ are," Steve shot back. "Everyone who goes out there and fights to protect those people falls into that category. And I _knew_ I couldn't protect those people by signing those papers. I couldn't. And I certainly couldn't protect my _own_ people by signing, my team."

The soldier gave a small nod, pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as Peter glowered at the ground. "I'll admit it. The Avengers have the capabilities to become a pretty great threat. But we're also the best equipped to handle the _bigger_ threats. Alien invasions, world-ending crises. Hell, I'm supposed to trust the same government that fired a goddamn _nuke_ at New York? _That's_ the body you want running the Avengers?" His fingers twitched again, arms crossing over his chest. "Corruption runs all throughout those rings, whether you want to admit it or not."

Peter's face seemed to change at that, a minuscule detail that Steve picked up on. He didn't look as angry rather than he did uncomfortable, uneasy, like the words had struck a nerve.

"The Avengers cannot get mixed up in those chains. How can we trust and fight for an entity that is so vulnerable?" Steve turned away as he asked this, scanned his eyes over the sea of buildings stretching before him. In the distance he could make out the East River, the glow of Manhattan reflecting off the water.

His eyes drifted up, catching sight of the gleaming lights of Stark Tower. His fingers twitched again, a steady rhythm he no longer had to think about.

His eyes narrowed. "Stark wants to believe he can make amends...thinks the Accords, the accountability will somehow make him feel better about everything that's gone wrong, will take away his guilt." There was a new venom in his voice, a shrewdness that etched onto the words themselves. "His ego has always been his biggest flaw and it's still present now."

Peter growled, an audible rumble in the back of his throat. Steve ignored it in favor of kindling the embers beginning to burn in his chest, smoldering brighter with each moment that passed. "He was so threatened by the idea of the public not backing the Avengers anymore that he went turned on his own teammates to sign legislation that would ultimately destroy us!"

"That's not true!" Peter snarled, fists clenched and posture visibly tense with anger.

"Isn't it?" Steve wasn't backing down, though. For the first time in two months all of the stress and tension and frustration he'd been holding back in exchange for keeping the peace between his teammates was finally bubbling up, a new freedom to his voice that he otherwise kept on lockdown. For once, he didn't have to worry about playing peacekeeper. For once, he could go on the offensive.

"I've known that man for over four years. You've known him - what? Two months now?" He scoffed and shook his head. "I know you might want to think you know everything there is to know about him, that he's just the greatest thing since sliced bread, but that sort of childish adoration isn't going to help you in the long run, son."

Peter sneered, didn't seem content to listen to Steve's words of warning. "What? You wanna talk about helping me all of a sudden, _Mr_. _Collateral is a part of life_? Give me a fucking break." He stalked closer, tilting his head up to stare the soldier right in the eyes. "You talk like you're _oh-so-righteous,_ like you're so much better than the infamous Tony Stark." He pointed an accusatory finger, all but jabbed it into the man's chest. "But at the end of the day, you couldn't give a damn about the people down there, people like me, whether we live or die."

Steve jolted at the words, staring the teen down with his piercing blue eyes as a sharp swirl of air entered his lungs.

Maybe it was the concussion still ringing in the back of his head. Maybe it was how tired he felt after dealing with the fight, the hiding, the yelling. Maybe it was just an inevitable timebomb waiting to go off and now happened to be the end of the fuse, but whatever it was, Steve felt his last remaining strings of composure beginning to fray.

"You think I don't care?" he murmured, voice low and cold, eyes burning with an icy intensity. "You think I don't remember _everyone_ I couldn't-" he cut himself off with a harsh inhale, lifting a hand to rub at his mouth, trying to ignore the brief shakiness of his hand as it rubbed at his skin.

He was tired of this.

New York, DC, Sokovia, Lagos, Germany, Siberia.

Everywhere they tried to do good, everywhere _he_ tried to do good, it never seemed to be enough. There were always people he couldn't save, people he let down. He knew that. In 1945, he accepted that, accepted that sometimes nothing was ever enough. It wasn't an easy lesson, but it was one Steve had learned to live with.

But watching the world pick apart his attempts, constantly remind him that his efforts still weren't good enough, he could honestly say it was making those doubts just a little more prominent, made that ache in his chest just a bit sharper.

"You're still fresh, aren't you," he started softly, Peter watching with distrust ever-present in his bright brown eyes. "You haven't been doing this for very long. It's fun, isn't it? Being a superhero, swinging around stopping car thieves and helping little old ladies." His tone was patronizing, harsh and critical as he all but glared at the teen. "But you have no _idea_ of the real struggles of this job."

He took a step closer. It was threatening, intimidating. Peter backed up, face scrunching into a tiny bit of insecurity. Steve found he didn't care. "In Germany, the airport...you didn't have a care in the world. Didn't know what we were there for. You were only there to impress, there to have fun."

He leaned closer, cornering the kid against the back of the air conditioning unit. His voice was deadly. "This job isn't about fun. It isn't about doing what you want. It's about sacrifice."

_("I gotta put her in the water!")_

"It's about making the hard calls and learning to live with them."

_("Close it.")_

_"_ And sometimes that means losing people."

_("BUCKY!")_

_"_ It comes with the job. It's hard and it's horrible, but it's inevitable." He took another step, mere inches away from the kid now as he growled. "So don't you _dare_ say that I don't care. You have no right, not when you have no idea the pain and the sleepless nights that come from failure, from the guilt that eats at you as you think about those people who relied on you, those people who thought you'd save them, watching them fall, watching them die with no power to stop it."

_("Did you know?")_

Peter wasn't looking at him anymore. His eyes were on the ground. His fists were clenched. Steve barely even noticed, too focused on keeping his voice from shaking, on keeping his legs steady and his head from swimming in the static that was threatening to overtake it.

"You have the privilege of being spared that torment, so don't you try and tell me off, pretending that you have even an _inkling_ of the pain that comes with this job, because how could you know? How could you _possibly know?!"_

The fist was fast, so fast that Steve didn't even have time to register what was happening before he was being knocked to the ground. He fell with a _thud_ , collapsing back onto the concrete with a sharp jolting pain to his cheek. It took him a second to truly comprehend what had just happened before he was blinking away the stars and lifting his shocked eyes to meet Peter.

The kid was standing over him now, offending fist clenched so tightly it was shaking. His chest heaved, each breath like a struggle as his shoulders shook, eyes watery and cheeks red as he gritted his teeth and stared at Steve with a look of pure despair and hatred rolled into one scathing glare.

"Fuck you, Rogers."

He spat the words so softly yet so forcefully. Without another word, he spun around on his heel and marched over to the other side of the roof, leaving Steve in a dazed heap on the floor.

The static numbness that had begun to encroach on his vision was receding, mind clearing as the startling anger began to die down. He breathed, soft and shallow, chest thudding up and down in an unsteady fashion as he tried to calm. He gently lifted a hand, brushed his fingers up against the warm skin of his cheek. The shock coursing through him slowly began to dwindle as he blinked his eyes and glanced down at the ground, ears ringing with a soft echo.

It was familiar, the same whining tone he'd used to hear in his ears as he lay alone in the alleyways, the loud laughter of the other kids bouncing off the walls as they left his scrawny little self all alone, bruised and beaten. It was the same ringing that would follow him all the way home, limp after limp, up the steps and through the door, like a stench he could never outrun, a shame he could never hide from.

There was silence now, a deep quiet that seamlessly mixed with the soft breeze that continued to wrap around his skin.

He was in the city, in Queens. Steve should have been able to pick up on the sounds of car backfires, voices and bar beats, shouts and traffic honks. He should have heard the noise. He _always_ heard the noise.

But there was no noise. Nothing except for the ringing...and the soft sniffles of the kid sitting a little ways away on the edge of the roof. The kid he'd just screamed at. The kid that had just gotten the shit kicked out of him. The kid that had saved his life earlier that night.

And for the first time since the beatings had begun way back in 1929, Steve truly felt that he finally deserved the punch-out.

He sighed, shut his eyes and turned his head away. _You're an ass, Rogers._

His words began to wash over him in a hot roll of _all-too-familiar_ shame, his lack of self-control disgraceful. He was supposed to be proving this kid wrong, proving why he and his teammates didn't deserve to be called criminals, to be called bad guys, and here he was proving _exactly_ why the world saw them as such, why they saw _him_ as such.

_Why can't you ever just walk away? Why can't you just stand down?_

Tony had his fair share of flaws. But Steve just couldn't seem to work past his own.

Maybe he should have stood down in Bucharest. Then those officers wouldn't have gotten hurt and he wouldn't have been arrested in the first place. Maybe he should have stood down in Berlin. Tony would have gotten him to sign and Bucky would be safe in a rehabilitation ward. Maybe he should have stood down in Leipzig. Rhodey would still be able to walk. His teammates wouldn't have spent those torturous weeks on the Raft. Maybe he should have stood down in Siberia.

He should have told Tony.

_He should have told Tony._

The soldier opened his eyes again, felt the hard gravel of the rooftop surface digging into his palm, leaving deep red indents in the skin. The moon was out tonight, big and bright, just the same as it always was, just the same as it was a year ago, two years ago, just the same as it was before the Accords, before the fights and the screaming, when he could walk onto the common floor in the dead of night and find a certain billionaire wide awake and open to talk about whatever. And just like that, Steve was suddenly overcome with a shocking sense of grief.

He'd never noticed before just how much he missed his friend.

Both of his friends...

His eyes drifted away from the orb in the sky and instead settled on the boy it was currently illuminating. Peter hadn't moved from his spot, hadn't bothered to pick up the rest of his supplies. He just sat on the edge of the roof, legs hanging down over the ledge, hands in his lap. From here, Steve could see that his past suspicions were correct. There were small little tears in the kid's shirt, most likely from where the broken remains of the mirror frame had sliced into his back.

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before furrowing his brow and rising up to his feet.

Steve Rogers, ever the flawed man, just didn't know when to walk away. And right now, he found he didn't _want_ to.

If Peter heard his approach (which Steve was almost positive he had), he didn't let it on. He just kept his eyes drawn and down. Upon closer inspection, Steve noticed the kid was rubbing circles into the back of his uninjured hand, pressing into the skin softly with the tips of his fingers.

Steve grabbed the duffel bag as he advanced, fingers tapping against his leg again as he took a small breath, faint and airy.

"Why did you let him do it?"

Peter knew immediately what he was talking about. The kid sighed, wiped at his eyes. "Leave me alone."

Steve knelt down and set the bag down next to him. Peter didn't turn to face him as he continued. "You're strong. I saw it in Germany, _felt_ it not even a minute ago. You could have stopped him if you really wanted to, knocked him through a wall in the process no doubt." He glanced down at the bag, at the collection of medical supplies: rolls and gauze and bandages, tweezers, alcohol, sutures. It never seemed to end. "So why didn't you?"

Peter didn't say anything for a second, long enough for Steve to wonder if the kid would just keep ignoring him. Finally, Peter lifted his eyes towards the sky and shook his head. "Believe it or not, Captain, _brute force_ isn't always the answer to your problems," he muttered with an annoyed look that slowly devolved into one of exhaustion. He gazed down at his wrapped palm, picked at the edge of the bandages with his nail. "I can't just punch my way out. I know that's something you probably don't understand."

He wasn't wrong. Steve wasn't a stranger to using his fists to solve his issues. Nevertheless, he wasn't above the alternatives, no matter what his teammates said.

"You gonna hit me now?"

It did catch him off guard, he had to admit. But he didn't let the surprise show too much on his face. "No. Of course not." His voice was level, calm, a stark difference to the sheer bullheaded anger he'd shown previously.

Peter's was the same, mundane and matter-of-fact. "Why not? I hit you. I was mouthing off."

"That doesn't warrant me hitting you back, son. Nothing warrants that."

He kept picking at the bandages, face passive and empty. "Discipline's important."

"That's not discipline. That's abuse."

"Potato, potahto."

Steve held back his response, had to physically bite his tongue to keep from opening his mouth. He knew a simple conversation wasn't going to change anything here. This kid was repeating a script, a line of dialogue he'd most likely been fed for a while. Steve wasn't about to break through that in a single night.

Peter seemed grateful for the man's silence, the soldier deciding to make his move now. He held up the pair of tweezers he'd found in the bag, Peter eying them strangely before glancing up at the man's face. Steve angled his head sideways. "Your back. It's still bleeding."

Immediately, Peter shifted away, angling his body so that his back was out of the man's line of sight. Steve sighed, determined to remain calm as he tried to lower himself down to the ground as much as possible, if only to appear like less of a threatening wall of muscle. "You can't reach those shards and you know it," his tone was careful in avoiding any accusatory notes.

Peter stared at him in mistrust, eyes narrowed and body stiff as he flitted his gaze back and forth between Steve and the tweezers in his hand. Finally, after a long moment of tense silence, the teen deflated slightly as he sighed in reluctant acceptance, angling his disgruntled look towards the floor as he warily began to shift so that his back was easier to see.

Steve took it as the green light, shifting his own position so that he was now kneeling right behind the teen. Now that he was up close, he could see through the rips in the kid's shirt, noticed not only the freshly bleeding wounds courtesy of the protruding glass shards, but also the longer, deeper, _older_ scars that wound up and down the boy's skin, like deep carvings in the earth.

One breath. Two. Calm. Composed.

He gingerly pressed his hand into an unmarred section of the kid's back, if only to get him used to his touch. Peter jerked at the contact, body nearly shivering from the stiff tenseness ringing through him, but he didn't voice any protests. Steve nodded and carefully maneuvered the tweezers, pinching them around the first shard. Peter didn't say anything as he removed it as carefully as possible, didn't even wince. Just sat still, tightly wound like a coiled spring, ready to lurch at a moment's notice.

But after a few more shards and another couple minutes of silence, the teen's fingers began to twitch against the ledge of the building. Steve noticed, didn't spare it much of a glance as he concentrated on removing another shard. He hesitated for a second, wondered if maybe he shouldn't push his luck too far. But the curiosity quickly became too much.

"What's the matter, Peter?"

He felt Peter stiffen even more as he spoke, the kid's fingers freezing in their twitches. But after a second - through which Steve made absolutely sure to keep his movements extra gentle if only to show the boy he meant no harm in his question - Peter took a small breath and lowered his head ever so slightly. "How...h-how did you know who I was? When you saw me...how'd you know?"

Steve gave a small nod of his head, knew the kid would probably ask that of him eventually. "The papers have been mentioning you a bit. I saw your picture...with Tony. So when the first face I see after fighting with Spider-Man is Tony Stark's new supposed protégé that sounds remarkably similar to the web-slinger _he_ recruited, well...I'm not as dumb as you think I am." He gave a small grin at that, wished he could see Peter's face at his comment. Instead, he just kept his focus on removing the last few shards.

He noticed Peter was still tense. Again, he waited for the question.

"You gonna tell anyone?" His voice wasn't defensive or angry. It sounded...resigned, tired, like his fate was about to be handed to him on a silver platter he had no control over.

Steve pursed his lip. "No. Not...if you answer some questions."

If Peter was surprised, he didn't voice it. Instead, he remained quiet as Steve pulled out the last shard, dropping it down onto the floor to join the rest. He grabbed a clean towel from the bag. "I'm just gonna clean off the blood, okay?"

No response. Just a nod.

The soldier gingerly lifted up the bottom of the kid's shirt, gently pressing the towel against his skin. It only took a moment to clear away most of the blood, took a bit longer to tear his eyes away from the scattering of scars. He lowered the teen's shirt, tossed the towel to the floor. Peter finally turned, face stoic and eyes heavy. Steve realized the boy was waiting for him to ask his questions.

"Those people down there...who are they?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, seemed to search Steve's face for a trace of something. When he couldn't find it, he sighed and gave a small shrug of his shoulders, resting his chin on his hand as he seemed to realize he didn't have much choice. "My aunts and uncles. At least, that's what I call them in front of the cameras." He waved his hand. "They're my dad's friends, his...associates. I've known them since I was like, eight. They're...interesting."

Steve leaned forward, finally relived he was starting to get some answers, however small they were. "Does your dad know? Does he know what they do?"

At this, the kid remained quiet. His fingers began to twitch again, thumping against his leg, continued to flit his eyes around the soldier's face. Finally he shrugged and glanced away, effectively shielding his eyes from the man's prying gaze. "My dad's a busy guy."

That wasn't an answer. Steve quickly realized he wouldn't get one. (And that, in itself, was answer enough.)

He swallowed, took a steadying breath as he tried to collect himself, keep his cool. It wouldn't do any good if he started getting all riled up again. He glanced away, if only to take a moment to compose himself, and as he did, he couldn't help but lock onto Stark Tower again.

"Does Tony know?"

Peter's posture shifted. He was back on the defensive.

"...Yes."

"Is he _doing_ anything about it?"

" _Yes,"_ he fired back immediately. "As much as I'll let him, at least. So watch it." He leaned closer to Steve, face pinched tight into a dirty look. "I don't want to yell again, but I won't listen to you rag on him."

Steve didn't nod. He didn't back off or continue his harping. Instead, he took in the look not on the kid's face, but in his eyes. He wasn't just angry for the sake of being angry. He was defensive, sure. But not for himself. He was defensive of _Tony_. That look in his eyes...it was protective, a warning shine.

He took a small breath, felt another question bubbling in his throat. This one was different though, _felt_ different.

"Why do you care about him so much?"

Peter reared back slightly, an offended look crossing his face for a brief second before it slowly disappeared as he noticed the lack of an accusatory tone in Steve's words. The soldier didn't stare him down in an intimidating manner, didn't sneer or condescend. His face held nothing but curiosity, no malice, no anger.

The teen blinked at him, opened his mouth then closed it again. He turned away, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck before it was plopping back down into his lap. "Because... _he_ cares about _me_. Figured the least I could do is return the favor." His voice was softer than Steve had heard it be before, an open vulnerableness the kid had been reluctant to show the entire night. Peter tilted his head, glanced up towards the Tower. "I think the Tony Stark _you_ know and the Tony Stark _I_ know are two very different people."

It was like looking at the magazine again, looking at the picture of Peter and Tony together on that curb. Steve was looking in on something he had no concept of, a certain bond he couldn't comprehend. Once again, the feeling of intruding, of seeing something he shouldn't be seeing returned to him, like he was peering into a relationship he had no right to be spying on.

Steve swallowed again, but it was difficult this time. "Maybe not _that_ different." The man glanced down at his hands, at the bandages wrapped around his _own_ arm. He could feel the burns underneath, the familiar itching sensitivity. He could even feel the stitches in his arm, the skin tight and warm.

"I never thanked you, you know?"

Peter cocked a brow. "What? For punching you in the face?"

Steve smiled. "For saving me."

The teenager locked his eyes onto the man, stared into his face like he was trying to _see_ the sincerity behind his words. He said nothing, leading them to sit in silence for a while. Finally, he blew out a small little sigh, soft and subdued, causing Steve to glance back over. Peter's hands were curling back into fists and for a moment, the man wondered if maybe the kid was angry again. But instead of shouting, the teen's words were quiet, gentle.

"Captain Rogers...despite what you might think, despite... _everything_ I've said tonight..." he paused for a moment, bit his lower lip and flexed his fingers. "I don't think you're a bad guy."

Once again, Steve was caught off guard. But then Peter continued.

"Stubborn, stupid, arrogant, disloyal, selfish, smug, condescending-"

_There is it._

"Yeah, I...I got it."

Peter furrowed his brow, relaxed his hands and turned towards him. "I know what bad people are like. They _enjoy_ the things they do, the harm they cause others, like...like it's a game to them. You...you're not like that." He gave a small nod of his head. "Yeah, you've made a _ton_ of bad decisions, but that doesn't make you a bad person. You've never done any of them just for the sake of hurting people. Despite all your flaws, you do still... _try_ to do the right thing. You try to be good."

The kid shrugged and turned his head away. "Sometimes that's the best we can do...is just try."

Steve didn't say anything, didn't know if he _should_. Peter didn't seem to mind his silence as he continued.

"I understand why you didn't sign the Accords, but...I don't understand you leaving." He gazed at Steve not with a look of anger or disgust, but almost... _sadness?_ "How could you do that to him? He trusted you and you just...left him."

The soldier sucked in a deep breath, felt it rattle around in his chest, hollow and empty. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Despite evidence pointing to the contrary, Tony was my friend. He was...he was a good friend."

"...you shouldn't have left him."

"I know. I shouldn't have. But I can't change what happened. I can only work with what's in front of me."

If the teen was dissatisfied with his answer, he didn't say so. Instead, he tapped a foot against the floor of the roof and stood, wincing slightly at the movement. Steve followed him with his eyes and then with his own movements, rising up as well. Peter took a few steps back, as if he finally realized just how close the soldier was to him. He folded his arms over his chest, wrapping them tight around himself as he suddenly looked unsure, uncomfortable.

Now that he wasn't on the defensive, now that he wasn't yelling in anger or defending his friend, the teen looked...smaller. He looked like he wasn't really sure what to do with himself, shuffling back and forth between his feet. Steve almost cracked a smile at the display.

"You should go," Peter murmured. "If they come to check on me and I'm not in my room..."

Steve nodded, tried to ignore the familiar churn of unease. He resisted the urge to glance back over towards Stark Tower as he stared at Peter, a new sense of anxiety beginning to form as he mulled over his question. "Are you going to tell anyone about this? Tony maybe?" Safe to say, their little impromptu operations would be a bit harder if there was a new influx of tipped-off cops swarming the city.

However, Peter just wrapped his arms tighter around himself and leveled the Captain a hard stare. "You keep my secret...I'll keep yours."

_More secrets. Great._

It was a no-brainer, though. If keeping his lips sealed about Spider-Man to his teammates was the price for keeping them safe, then so be it. He'd deal with the consequences later.

The man turned, eyed the ladder to the fire escape they'd used to get up there. Natasha had to be worried by now. In all honesty, he wouldn't be surprised if she was already out there scouring the streets for him.

Man, was there going to be hell for him to pay when he got back.

But as he wrapped a hand around the edge of the rusted metal, Steve found himself compelled to turn. He cracked a smile as he stared back at the teen. "You're a good kid, Peter." Despite the sting still burning in his cheek, or maybe even _because_ of it, Steve knew it to be true. "I'm glad Tony has someone like you watching his back."

Peter blinked at him, eyes widening slightly at the praise. The teen opened his mouth but didn't say anything, choosing instead to glance down at the ground, stare at his shuffling feet. Steve nodded and made to head down the ladder again, only to pause once more.

This time it took a little longer for him to turn around, but the churning in his stomach was what finally compelled him.

He sighed, twisted on his heel, and marched back across the roof. Peter looked startled at the sudden look of determination on the Captain's face, cocking a brow as the man walked right past him and knelt back down over the duffel bag, rummaging around for a minute. "Umm...what-" he started, only to cut himself off as Steve stood up and walked back over.

Peter backed up just a tad as the man approached, but stopped as Steve held something out to him. It was a piece of bandage, ripped from the roll. On it was a line of numbers scribbled on in sharpie...a phone number.

"If, uh...if you ever need anything, or if you're just..." Steve trailed off, face pinching into a look of mild unease before he swallowed it down and leveled the kid another small smile. "I'm available. Just call...if you need me."

Peter stared down at the slip of bandage, then back up at Steve. It almost looked like he was about to take it, only to lean back slightly as he glanced away, brows furrowing slightly. "I won't. Need you...I mean."

Steve, ever prepared, just gave the paper a little shake. "Just humor me, then."

The teen flitted his eyes back over, shifted his weight between his feet again before finally huffing out a small sigh as he snatched the slip, stuffing it into his pocket without another word. Satisfied, Steve gave a little nod and walked back over to the fire escape. He wrapped both hands around the top of the ladder before glancing over his shoulder.

"Stay safe, Spider-Man."

The boy blinked at him, arms coming to fold over his chest, as he glanced away, licking his bottom lip. "You too." His voice was soft, but Steve heard it. Of course, the kid was quick to fix him with another annoyed look, jutting his chin out defiantly. "But this doesn't mean I like you, alright?"

Steve couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped. "Noted."

With that, the man began to make his way down the fire escape, the metal creaking slightly as he climbed down. It only took a second for him to reach the ground floor, head instantly swiveling as he debated which path to take. From up there, he'd made mental note of where the East River was. Following it _should_ land him back at the warehouse in a few hours' time, depending on how fast he was and how many drunken pedestrians he'd have to hide from.

"Captain Rogers?

He lifted his gaze, found Peter leaning over the edge of the roof. Despite the distance, the teen didn't raise his voice much. Neither of them really had too, for they both knew the other could hear just fine.

"Yeah?"

The kid's face tightened into a firm frown, eyes hard and steady in their piercing gaze. His voice was level, seemed to carry for miles despite its quiet quality.

"I won't let you hurt him again."

Steve felt his fingers twitch at his sides, felt the familiar ache in his chest and the heaviness of his gut. He stared up at Peter, held his firm gaze with an earnest look of his own. "Believe me, son. That's the last thing I want to do."

Peter didn't falter. "Then why do you keep doing it?"

He swallowed, fought down the hint of nausea he'd been repressing since he'd woken, and sighed. "I guess I'm not as good of a friend as I like to think." He threw the kid a smile, a small, gentle one that he hoped carried the full weight of his words.

"But I'm hopeful that one day, I'll be able to change that."

With that, Steve turned away from the house, away from Peter, and began to mold into the shadows, his destination in hand.

Still, as he pushed off away from the house, away from one of the longest nights of his life, his ears still picked up the quiet reply of the strange kid he had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of.

"We'll see."


	24. Turning Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nobody on the football fields today, no practices or drills taking place just beyond the seats, leaving them in uneasy silence as they waited. With the sun still struggling to rise, their waiting spot underneath the bleachers was fairly dark, the grass around their feet littered with cups, napkins, popcorn kernels, and anything else that might have been dropped during the games.
> 
> Ned kicked at an empty soda can before hesitantly turning back to the girl with a worried look. "What if he doesn't show?"
> 
> MJ lifted her gaze to stare back at the teen. Ned's face practically oozed with worry, eyes seeping concern and sadness as he continued to fiddle with his hands, fingers picking at his cuticles almost unconsciously. She swallowed, licked at her bottom lip, and hardened her gaze. "Then we'll figure something else out. But your panicking isn't going to do anybody any good so stop moving, would you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Note for WARNINGS

** MJ **

_ 5:01 PM _

_Tomorrow. Before school. 6:45._

_ 5:01 PM _

_Stadium Field. Under the bleachers._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_ 5:02 PM _

_Be there._

* * *

**Sunday - May 1, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor**

**06:43 PM**

"Sir... _Sir,_ I understand that, but-"

. . .

"I _do_ know what emergency means, thank you very much. But it's been, what - _three_ days since they infiltrated the facility? What good would it do, him being there now?"

. . .

"If I recall, section 3, subsection 2B of the Accords hasn't been _approved_ yet, Sir. So you can't _technically_ demand his presence at the scene."

. . .

"Well nothing was stolen, correct? And nobody was too badly injured?"

. . .

"How is that _not_ the point?"

. . .

"Sir, Colonel Rhodes is more than capable of handling any and all of your concerns. That's why he's _down_ there."

. . .

"As I said before, _Sir_ , Mr. Stark is in the middle of a medical emergency that I am not at liberty to discuss otherwise he'd be telling you all of this himself, most likely with much less pleasantry."

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I- Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

Pepper tossed the phone to the floor none-too-gently as Ross ended the call, letting out a loud sigh as she dragged a hand down her face, back pressing hard into the wall behind her.

"Guessing it went well?" Tony mumbled with a half-smirk and a tired drawl that hung off the end of his words.

The woman groaned, leaning her head back with a _thud_. "Suddenly, I completely understand why you always put him on hold."

Tony would have responded, but right then, another wave of nausea forced him to lean back over the toilet, dispelling another bout of bile into the waters below. Pepper didn't say anything, just watched with a passive look of weariness.

The lights in the bathroom were dim, illuminating just enough for the pair to see the vague details of the room. Towels, blankets, and pillows littered the floor along with empty glass cups, tissues, pill bottles, cracker boxes, and a mountain of ever-warming water bottles.

Tony's stomach rolled a few more times, but everything had well and truly been expelled. He groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning his body against the toilet, resting his head in his hand as he took a deep, shuddery breath and glanced over at Pepper. "Sorry you...had to deal with...him..." his voice trailed off into a breathy pant at the sheer energy it took to speak.

Pepper's face remained ever calm as she grabbed one of the water bottles and popped the cap, stretching it out before him. "Drink."

He didn't bother arguing, didn't have the energy for it. Pepper continued, eyeing him carefully as if making sure he was drinking enough to satisfy her. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to cleaning up messes. Though it's usually _your_ messes I'm dealing with so this is a bit out of left field for me."

Tony all but dropped his hand away from his mouth, the bottle following as it hit his leg with a soft little _thud._ Pepper carefully reached over and pulled it from his grasp before he could spill it. He swallowed, thankful for the slight reprieve from the bitter dryness that had been filling his mouth for the past few days.

It had started on early Friday morning, those first trembles in his hands that slowly spread to the rest of his body, followed by strong waves of nausea and skull-splitting headaches. After a while, when the nausea had refused to cease, Tony elected to just stay in the bathroom, Pepper complying by bringing in a few pillows and blankets to stretch along the cold tile floor.

Things had considerably worsened in the hours to follow.

Now, Tony could barely even see straight as he continued to lean up against the toilet, confident he would literally collapse to the floor if he tried to sit up without support. The nausea was constant now, an ever-present rolling in his stomach that refused to let him sleep, making him grit his teeth and swallow down the churning liquids that threatened to bubble past his throat. His skin seemed to tingle with nerves and a pulsing heat, the erratic beating of his heart making his ears ring and his vision wobble.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes, could practically _feel_ the throbbing force of the headache thumping just past his fingertips, could hear it grating against his eyes, clawing at his skull in sharp, poignant stabs of agony. But even with the crippling pain in his head, the billionaire still heard Pepper's words, and _apparently_ , still had enough energy to feel exasperated.

"What...were they thinking?" he mumbled.

Pepper seemed to know what he was talking about, glancing down at the phone she'd tossed to the floor. "They didn't _take_ anything even though they broke into the storage vaults. That and a records room."

Tony groaned, a pitifully quiet noise that trickled from his lips.

Apparently Thursday had been a busy day for everybody, Rogues included. The billionaire actually had to feel a stab of gratitude for his current predicament, otherwise, he'd no doubt have to be in DC dealing with the apparent break-in at the hands of Captain America and his merry band of idiots.

He mulled over the woman's words, sluggishly circulating them through his brain at a snail's pace until they finally started to make sense. "They were looking for something?" His voice was raspy and low.

"But what though? What are they even doing in DC? Why are they risking detection by breaking into random government buildings?"

Tony spit into the toilet, grimacing at the dry scratch in the back of his throat. "I don't know. And honestly...I don't care."

His apathy for his ex-teammates had already been growing in the past few weeks and in his half-conscious state, he literally couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He leaned his head down against his arm, shutting his eyes as he focused on breathing deep, steady breaths that kept his mind away from the frothing mess that was his stomach, away from the constant chills wracking his shuddering frame and the sweat dripping down his face from the heat brimming just underneath his goosebumped skin, away from the deep-seated agony burning all throughout his body.

He felt the blanket around his shoulders get pulled tighter around his form. He peeled his eyes back open and watched as Pepper readjusted the thick cloth, tucking it firmly against his shivering frame. She sat back on her haunches, staring at him with a soft, searching gaze.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was gentle, a lull of music to his otherwise ringing ears.

"Like I'm having the worst hangover of my life. Which is pretty ironic all things considered."

She hummed, reaching for the water bottle again and extending it out to him. "You need to stay hydrated. You're losing a lot of fluids."

He grunted as he wearily latched his fingers around the bottle again. But he didn't bring it up to his lips. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his finger against the label wrapping around the plastic, picking at a lifted corner of the paper. He could feel Pepper watching him, could almost _hear_ her thoughts racing through her head. He sighed, fiddling with the cap.

"Pep, you...you don't need to do this. Go help Rhodey. I-I got this."

 _He_ didn't even believe the words coming out of his mouth. But something in him just couldn't help but say them, couldn't help but offer the woman a free pass, an excuse to get away from the disgusting mess that was this situation.

Pepper's face didn't lose its soothing glow as she gently grabbed the man's hand - still clutching tightly onto the water bottle - and guided it closer to his face. He took over from there, dribbling a few more pitiful drops onto his tongue.

"Rhodey's a big boy. He can handle himself."

"So can I."

"...What day is it?"

Tony blinked, faltering slightly as he glanced up. He swallowed or at least _tried_ to as he racked his brain, tried to pinpoint how long they'd been in there. But just the effort of remembering back to Friday made another blinding stab of pain pierce his skull as spots began to dance before his eyes. He gritted his teeth and rested his head back down onto his arm. "Not fair..."

He heard the woman give a small chuckle as she began to card her hand through his hair. It was little relief from the breath-rattling pain burning throughout his entire form, but the little comfort it _did_ bring was appreciated.

"It's alright," she murmured softly. "I know you're in pain. I'm not going to leave you right now so you can go ahead and drop that idea." She tapped her fingers gently across his cheek. "It's Sunday, by the way."

"Sunday..." he echoed softly before shrugging. "I'm just gonna go ahead and take your word for it." In all honesty, it could have been December and he wouldn't have been able to tell.

Pepper continued to brush her fingers through his hair, not seeming to mind how moist it was from the sweat beading down his face. "I'm proud of you, Tony." Her voice was soft, a soothing echo that quietly bounced off the walls. "You know that, right?"

He hummed again, tried to let the words take away some of the grinding in his head or the churning in his gut. "Yeah, but maybe save that for when I'll _definitely_ remember it. In fact, maybe just record it for posterity."

She smiled, dragged her hand away from his hair, and moved it to his forehead. He bit back a groan of relief as her cool skin brushed up against the burning surface of his own. She pulled it away all too soon, only to replace it with a damp washcloth, gently patting it around his face and down the side of his neck. "Your fever feels like it's going down. Any more hallucinations?"

Tony willed more energy into his eyes, forcing them to open once more. He scanned the walls, searched for any more moving shadows or encroaching black figures. "None that I can see." He shut his eyes again. "Then again, _you_ very well could just be one _bossy_ fever dream. You sure you're real?"

She rolled her eyes and flicked his cheek with the towel. "I'm very real, thank you very much."

The smile that had begun to pull at his lips slowly disappeared as he blinked, glancing down at the ground as he ran over her words again, rolled them around in his head like a marble bumping around an empty box. "Sunday..." he whispered more to himself than to her, but she heard nonetheless, furrowing her brows at him.

"Tony?"

"Tomorrow's Monday?"

"Yes..."

He glanced up at her for a moment, taking in the confirmation in her eyes before dropping his head again, running his fingers along his temple. "Peter comes on Mondays," he sighed, a sudden weight seeming to sit on his chest as he sucked in another rattling breath.

Pepper stared at him before glancing down at the washcloth in her hands. "Do you want me to tell him not to?"

"No," Tony said immediately, the fastest he'd responded in hours. "No, he'll...get all nervous. Probably think I'm having second thoughts about...No, just...I'll deal."

Tomorrow would mark the first day they'd seen each other since their talk, since their deal. Tony probably would have felt anxious if his body had the energy for it. But thinking of Peter just reminded the man of why he was doing this in the first place, who he was doing this _for,_ because it definitely wasn't for himself. At least...not _just_ for himself.

Pepper didn't seem all that convinced however as she threw him a concerned look. "Tony-"

"It's been three days since my last drink, Pep. The hallucinations are gone. The fever's going down. I should be fine by tomorrow."

He knew it probably wasn't true and if the scrunching of Pepper's face was any indication, she thought the same.

" _Should be._ But you don't know for sure. It's different for everyone. You might still have symptoms for a few days."

Tony narrowed his eyes, thought back to Thursday night, to the glass on the floor and the look in the kid's eyes. He clenched his fist, felt the tips of his fingers brushing up against the scars on his palm.

"I'm _not_ canceling."

Pepper held his gaze for a moment before turning away with a sigh, holding up her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright." She pursed her lips and stared at him with a strict look. "Then that means you _really_ need to take it easy tonight."

The billionaire couldn't help but scoff, shakily reaching out towards the pillow laying a little ways away, dragging it closer as he all but deflated onto the floor. "No problem." He dragged the blanket tighter over himself as he tried to absorb as much from the cool tile floor as possible, if only to alleviate the burning heat still crawling up his neck.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper began to grab at one of the spare pillows and began to fluff it. He sighed and lifted his head. "At least go take the bed, would you?" He sighed, not really wanting the woman to have to spend the night on the bathroom floor.

Pepper, however, seemed to completely ignore his words as she set the pillow down right next to his, laying down and reaching a hand out to grab his, latching her cold fingers around his burning ones. "Shut up and go to sleep," she murmured with a smile, gently caressing the back of his hand.

The man gazed back at her, staring into the deep blue of her eyes as he huffed out a little laugh.

"A _really_ bossy fever dream."

* * *

**Monday - May 2, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Stadium Field**

**06:30 AM**

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, stretching over the sky into a calming wash of lavender, clouds dotting the surface in light pink waves. The light had yet to truly pierce over the buildings though, leaving a distinct nip in the air from its absence.

Peter walked in silence, listening to the sounds of his footsteps as he walked up the steps from the subway, breaking through the dismal gray of the underground and out into the burst of chilly air up above. He tightened his grip on his backpack with the one hand he could still properly move, hoisting it higher over his shoulder as he glanced down.

His left middle and ring fingers were bandaged together, the wrappings tight and restrictive. He could still make out the slight discoloration of the skin from underneath the bandage and the slightly crooked nature of the appendages.

Max had remembered.

But all in all, Peter considered himself _quite_ lucky, for the man hadn't had enough time for a " _proper"_ lesson, settling for snapping two of his fingers instead, as a " _quickie_."

_("Why did you let him do it?")_

Peter flexed his fingers as best he could, grimacing slightly before shoving his hand back into his pocket. He was _very_ lucky.

He hadn't expected to come out of meeting Steve Rogers with such minimal damages. So if a couple of broken fingers were the price to pay for pulling off as unbelievable a feat as hiding a bullheaded super-soldier, then he'd take what he could get.

Peter blew a harsh sigh from his lips, pinching his face slightly as he fought to dispel the thoughts from his mind. He'd wasted enough time that weekend thinking about Steve Rogers and honestly, he'd be fine never thinking about it again because right now, he had something bigger on his plate.

The school was already coming into view now.

It was like clockwork. As soon as his eyes landed on the building, Peter felt his throat tighten with such force, he was shocked he was still able to breathe. It was startling, the sudden onset of nerves that began to trickle down his skin, bumping up against his jacket and curling around his bones like a poison that settled in his blood.

It was so strong that Peter actually found himself wavering in his steps as he began to approach the building, legs locking as his heart began to stutter, a dying car battery thudding on its last dregs. He could feel his phone in his pocket, feel the weight of it tugging him down to the ground, burning a hole in his pants, searing against his skin.

They were waiting for him.

Ned and Michelle...they were waiting for _him._

He tried not to linger too much on the unsettling undertones of the short messages he'd received yesterday, nor on the fact that it had been MJ to text him and not Ned, who had been spamming his phone for the better part of the weekend. But he couldn't help the thrumming air of unease that seemed to have followed him from home.

It had been _days_ since he'd last seen his friends, since he'd last talked to them. Not even his phone, which had been bombarded by messages, had elicited a response from him. Every time he even thought about responding to one of Ned's texts or MJ's calls, Peter's hand would freeze and his finger would curl back against his palm like there was a literal shield around his phone, an impenetrable force that he couldn't break through.

Friday, after his father and the Cons had departed early in the morning once more, Peter had elected to stay home again, stayed holed up in his room, his phone a good toss away from him.

He supposed he had to be a _little_ grateful for Rogers and his impromptu soap-boxing, for the encounter had left him too exhausted to even _think_ about going outside, like the energy he'd had to conjure up just to talk to the man had drained him of everything. He supposed he had Mr. Stark to thank for that. Two months ago, he never would have _dreamed_ of shouting at someone who could very easily rip him in half.

It still wasn't very _easy_ , though. After Rogers had left, the sheer anxious energy that had built up over the night from the screaming and - most notably - the _touching_ had led to him sitting in the bathroom for a good long while, gripping the edges of the toilet so tightly there were now cracks in the porcelain from his violent retching.

But now there was no Rogers. There was no bone-deep exhaustion. There was nothing keeping him from stepping inside of that school again, no excuses keeping him from his friends.

But the churning in his stomach? That had only grown stronger and stronger.

Peter kept his eyes locked on the looming structure before him, blinking as the first few rays of sunlight began to peek out over the top of the building and seeped into his eyes. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time.

_6:36 AM_

It took him a while to really register the numbers staring back up at him, took him even longer to uncurl his fingers around the phone and slip it back into his pocket as his body began to shiver with phantom chills, a notable cold tingle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

This early in the morning, the school was quiet. Kids didn't really start showing up until seven, leaving the air quiet and undisturbed as he walked, his feet crunching underneath the damp grass below. But Peter almost found himself _wishing_ for more kids, wishing for the sound of their loud voices, the revving of the busses, even the chiming of their phones, anything to keep him from listening to the steady pounding of his heart or the soft whisper of words that slowly began to trickle into his head.

_("I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again.")_

His heart hammered, an unsteady fluttering that made his hands shake.

He hadn't thought of O'Hara in days, not since the chaos of the past few days had started. With all the craziness of Tony and his father and the press swirling around, the words and the flowers and the sickly sweet coldness of her eyes had been pushed to the back of his mind, along with any and all feeling surrounding them.

But now that craziness was gone. Mr. Stark wasn't here. And all he could feel was that icy grip of cold air beginning to tighten around his lungs.

The thought of seeing that woman again, of even being in the same _building_ as her made him itch to run, but he kept his feet rooted to the ground, kept his legs steady and his eyes steeled. He could still feel his phone in his pockets, could practically hear the chimes echoing in his ears, one for each text they'd sent, every message pleading for him to respond.

_You're gonna have to face them eventually, Parker._

He knew it was true. He couldn't exactly avoid his school forever, especially since his father probably wouldn't be too happy about his growing number of absences. Still, it didn't help to settle the prickling of his skin or the sudden dryness of his mouth as he walked across the lawn of the school, the back stadium growing closer with each step, and the dread in his stomach sinking deeper and deeper.

**. . . . .**

"Would you _stop_ pacing already? It's getting on my nerves."

Ned paused in his marching, turning his head to throw Michelle an indignant frown. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm stressing out over here!" he huffed, voice terse and high-pitched.

They'd been waiting for twenty minutes already and safe to say they were starting to get on each others' nerves. Multiple times Ned had insisted on sending Peter another text, only for Michelle to shoot it down and demand they wait for him like the original plan. The teen still had a few minutes until their scheduled meet-time, and Michelle wasn't planning on seeming any more desperate than Ned had already established.

Said boy bit his lower lip before glancing down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers as he shuffled his feet. "I...I'm worried."

"Shocker. It's hard to tell what with you bouncing off the walls every two seconds."

He turned back to her, eyes narrowing as his face tightened into a stern glare he usually reserved for Flash. "Really? You're gonna chose right _now_ to be a jerk?"

Michelle held his stare for a moment before folding her arms over her chest and glancing away. "What do you want me to say, Leeds?" Her voice wasn't so much defensive as it was troubled, bordering on weary.

Ned's burning gaze seemed to falter at the girl's tone of voice, his hands stuffing deep into his pockets as he blew a sigh past his lips, glancing up at the bleacher bottoms overtop their heads. "I don't know."

There was nobody on the football fields today, no practices or drills taking place just beyond the seats, leaving them in uneasy silence as they waited. With the sun still struggling to rise, their waiting spot underneath the bleachers was fairly dark, the grass around their feet littered with cups, napkins, popcorn kernels, and anything else that might have been dropped during the games.

Ned kicked at an empty soda can before hesitantly turning back to the girl with a worried look. "What if he doesn't show?"

MJ lifted her gaze to stare back at the teen. Ned's face practically _oozed_ with worry, eyes seeping concern and sadness as he continued to fiddle with his hands, fingers picking at his cuticles almost unconsciously. She swallowed, licked at her bottom lip, and hardened her gaze. "Then we'll figure something else out. But your panicking isn't going to do anybody any good so stop moving, would you?"

Ned groaned and aimed to kick at another can.

"He's not really good at staying still, you know."

Their heads whipped up towards Peter as he spoke. The teen swallowed thickly as he met their gazes, shifting his weight between his feet as he drummed his fingers against the strap on his backpack.

"Hey..."

For a second, nobody said anything. In the air hung a fragile silence that none of them seemed ready to break. Peter mentally began to brace, preparing for the lashing he knew he was about to get. But before he could even begin to psych himself up, Ned was lunging forward, wrapping his arms around Peter's thin frame as he nearly hoisted him off the ground out of sheer excitement.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you okay? I'm so glad you're here. I was so frikkin worried, man! You weren't responding and I know that's normal for you sometimes but this totally felt different and I knew something was up but I just didn't know what and I didn't know what to do and neither did MJ and we just-"

Ned continued to ramble, words falling out of his mouth at a million miles per second. Peter tried to listen, he really did. But he couldn't seem to drag his focus away from the arms wrapped around him. He could feel them pressing against his skin, even through his numerous layers. The grip, so tight and restrictive, made his heart flutter in nerves as he felt the familiar bubbling of anxiety building in his gut, muscles coiled tight as he fought the urge to tear himself away from the sudden, unexpected touch.

Thankfully, Ned seemed to notice the stiffness of his friend as he cut off his ramble, instantly ripping his arms away as he took a hurried step back, holding up his hands in peace. "Sorry! I'm...I didn't...I'm sorry."

Peter had to hold in his breath of relief as he focused instead on the new look of guilt beginning to spread onto Ned's face at his apparent slip-up. He shook his head and took a step forward. "It's fine. _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. I left you to worry for days with complete radio silence."

Just saying the words aloud made a wave of shame wash over his skin, prickling uncomfortably as he stared back at Ned.

Despite the nerves he'd been feeling at the idea of coming back to school and seeing his friends, Peter couldn't help the instinctive warmth that always came whenever he was around Ned. There was just something about him that was so...familiar, so safe and comfortable.

Michelle stood off to the side. She said nothing. Peter spared her a few nervous glances but didn't have the confidence to hold her gaze as he turned back to Ned. Said boy was staring up at Peter with large, worried eyes.

"What happened, man? You just up and left on Wednesday without any sort of warning or explanation and then you weren't at school on Thursday, which I was kind of expecting cause I mean...you know?" His face pinched into a tighter look of unease as he continued. "But you always show up the day after so when you didn't show up on Friday either that's when I really started to freak, especially when you still didn't respond and I was so scared that they'd done something horrible but I couldn't just go over there and ask them so I just-"

" _Ned._ "

Peter cut his friend off before he could spiral into another bout of verbal barfing, Ned sucking in a shaky breath as he stopped. Peter took in the concern in the boy's expression, the way he was picking at his fingers, the overall tense posture of his body.

_("Imagine what you must make them feel.")_

He'd done that. He'd done that to his friend.

Peter swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and tried to give Ned a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay. I'm alright."

"...I thought they were hurting you."

More guilt. More shame. It was thick and sticky and it clotted in his stomach, knotting painfully around his insides. Peter shut his eyes, couldn't bear to look at his friend's face anymore, at the sheer panic and misery he'd caused. "I know. I'm sorry. I...I wanted to text you, call you, something."

_("They don't deserve to deal with your issues.")_

"But I just...I couldn't. I don't know how to explain it, but I was just...scared. I just...I-I..."

This time it was Ned cutting him off, waving his hands and shaking his head as Peter locked his jaw. "It's okay, Peter. It's...I get it. You don't have to explain it to me. You...you've never had to explain it to me," he murmured in a soft tone of voice, the same tone Ned always used whenever Peter was panicking. It was quiet and comforting, a gentle little lull that was so different from the harsh ringing of O'Hara's words. It made Peter turn to look back at his friend, eyes drinking in the newfound relief beginning to spread over Ned's face, washing away the fear and the dread.

"I...I'm just really glad you're okay."

Peter took a breath, then another, waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Ned to turn around and realize how entitled he was to be angry, for the yelling and the screaming and the fury. Three breaths...four. No change. Ned's face was still the same, cheeks red and lips spread into a toothy grin, like Peter's mere presence had lifted his stress and returned the teen to his usual bubbly self.

It left a strange taste in Peter's mouth, an odd sensation that kept his heart rate elevated, and his senses honed in for trouble. Something about this just didn't feel right, something about Ned's sheer willingness to just forgive and forget so quickly. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. He didn't _deserve_ to have it be so easy. Still, he fought down the unease and did his best to give Ned a convincing grin.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Both boys turned towards Michelle as she spoke for the first time since Peter's arrival, face twisted into a disbelieving sneer.

Ned furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You're letting him off just like _that?_ After everything he put us through in the last few days?"

Anger. That's better. He deserved anger, not forgiveness.

"Michelle, come on. You know it's not-"

He cut Ned off before he could say anymore, taking a small step towards the girl. "MJ, I'm sorry. I really am. I just-"

She folded her arms. "Just couldn't give enough of a damn?"

"No! Of course not. It's...not easy to explain, alright?"

She narrowed her eyes, jaw clenching as she growled. "Well _try_. Cause we spent the better part of last week worrying our brains out over you, you _jerk_. And you didn't even have the common decency to let us know you were okay. Ned thought you were fucking dead, Peter!"

_("Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?")_

Peter whipped around towards Ned with a horrified look, his friend sheepishly glancing down at the ground as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I-I didn't...well, I knew it was pretty irrational and-"

Michelle took a threatening step forward, Peter didn't bother in retreating, kept his legs rooted to the floor despite the tingling running down his spine. She jammed a finger towards him. "You don't get to play this off like it wasn't a big deal, Parker. Because it was. I didn't sign up to get dragged along on a fucking whim by you, alright? That's not something I'm just going to roll over and accept!"

She sucked in a breath. It wavered in the air, a sharp little gasp of noise that she tried to swallow down. Peter watched as the girl blinked furiously, eyes misty and face pinched into a tight expression of bitterness. He shrank back at the watery look in her eyes, stomach shriveling into a deep black pit. "MJ..."

But he didn't know what to say.

_("Every good boy knows when to be quiet.")_

Michelle sniffed, quickly shaking herself back into focus as she turned her gaze over to Ned instead, who was shuffling anxiously as he flitted his gaze back and forth between his friends. "Ned. I need to talk to him alone for a second."

Instantly, the nervousness faded from his friend's face, replaced by indignant anger as he turned to stare the girl down. "No way! I'm not gonna let you scream at him until the bell rings!"

Peter placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, Ned turning to look back at him. "Ned. It's...it's fine. I deserve worse."

And he did.

Ned, however, didn't seem to agree as he angrily pushed Peter's hand off. "Don't _say_ things like that, Peter!" He rounded on Michelle again, a protective scowl crossing his face. "MJ, I swear you better not-"

"Ned, _please,"_ she finally murmured, voice lower than before as she raised her hands. "I need to talk to him. Just talk."

Peter quickly came to realize why she'd insisted they meet under the bleachers. She probably wanted as much privacy as possible when chewing him out, a real courtesy to him all things considered. Still, Ned seemed more swayed by her plea than Peter, his friend glaring down at the floor for a moment of thought.

The teen decided to speed things along, knowing he owed Michelle her few minutes of ranting. He turned to his friend, giving another reassuring smile. "Ned. It's alright, man. I'll be fine."

Ned glanced up at him, eyes darting around Peter's face like he was searching for some hidden context behind his words. When he found none, the teen sighed as he turned around and reached for his backpack laying on the ground. He angrily snatched it up before throwing it over his shoulder, pointedly glaring over at the girl. "Fine. I'm going to my locker to get my books and then I'm coming right back here," he warned, holding Michelle's even stare for a second longer before marching away.

Peter watched his friend's retreating form, didn't bother in turning to look at the girl. He tensed, bracing his shoulders for the onslaught as he readied to hear the girl tear him down. It was the least he could do, give Michelle a little time to blow off her steam and rip him a new one. Maybe she'd realize how much better off she'd be without him and he could finally stop feeling guilty about their friendship.

. . .

"You should have told me."

It wasn't a yell, wasn't a scream or a cry. It was simple and quiet, but it still seemed to ring around Peter's ears, echoed around the bleachers. Told her? There were so many things he'd kept from her that he couldn't even pinpoint what exact thing she was talking about. Still, he wasn't about to keep ignoring her, especially since it was much harder without the barrier of a few miles and a phone screen.

"I know."

"First I find out about..." she glanced down at his fingers, took in the sight of the bandages still wrapped tight. He moved his hand behind his back, Michelle huffing a sigh as she continued. "And then I have to hear about your mom from _Ned_ and I just...You didn't tell me anything, like you just couldn't be _bothered_ to say anything."

He stared down at the ground, gazing back and forth between each and every piece of garbage hidden in the grass. "That's not why I didn't tell you."

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me about your family?"

Peter sighed, glancing away with an exasperated purse of the lips. "Come on, Michelle. This isn't exactly something I can just talk about casually," he muttered, holding up his damaged fingers with an annoyed little wave. Michelle stared with a disgruntled scrunch of the nose. "People aren't supposed to know. They _can't_ know. They'll just take it the wrong way and make a much bigger deal of it than it really is."

Peter could see it just in the way his friends were reacting, by how Mr. Stark always reacted. The bandages, the scars, the bruises...they made people uncomfortable, made them ask questions they didn't want to be asking, usually questions that stirred up trouble for him.

Michelle's face dropped some of its aggression as she stepped forward, voice hard and unwavering. "Peter. They're hurting you."

He glanced down at his fingers. He brushed up against the bandages, picked at the edges.

"Only when I deserve it."

He heard Michelle suck in a sharp breath through her teeth, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the look on her face. He didn't want to see how pathetic she thought he was, see the look of disgust and contempt mirrored on her face.

He continued to avert his gaze, kept his eyes locked on his fingers. He began to bend them, if only slightly. The small twinge of pain was enough to keep him grounded, keep him focused and zeroed in on the situation at hand. He heard Michelle's footsteps on the ground, felt her getting closer.

"And your mom? Why did you keep her a secret?"

Peter bent them back further, had to swallow down the burning pain building in his throat as the broken fingers began to pull and stretch. "There's no point in grieving people who are dead and gone."

He could feel O'Hara's hands curling around his shoulders. Another tug on his fingers and she was gone.

" _...what?"_

This time, he did look up. Michelle's face was pinched into a look of distress, an emotion he wasn't used to seeing on the girl. He held her gaze for another moment before turning away again.

"I...she died _ten years ago_ , MJ. I should have moved on three different times over and yet I still...I-I'm still.." he could feel the words beginning to get lodged. He shook his head, cleared the blockage as best he could. "...it's ridiculous. And it's embarrassing. Ned only knows cause I've known him since, _what?_ Ten, eleven? It's stupid to still feel so bad about it. I...I didn't want you to think less of me because of it."

But she did. He _knew_ she did. She had to.

"I guess I just...didn't think you'd understand."

Michelle's body was tense, stiff as a rod as she clenched her fists. She shut her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth as she lowered her head, strands of curly brown hair falling down over her forehead. She quickly whipped around on her heel, marching over to her backpack. Peter instantly felt his heart sink, watching as the girl crouched down over her stuff, readying to leave.

"Wait! MJ, please...please don't leave. I'm so sorry for not telling you. I was just trying to act right and move on like I should have done years ago and I-"

She stood up, effectively cutting Peter off as he watched her turn back around. She was holding her sketchbook, pulling out some of the loose papers stuck in between the pages. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, only for her to shove the papers against his chest, the teen stumbling slightly before latching his fingers around the flittering pages.

He blinked at her, then down at the pile in his hands. "Um..."

"Look at them."

He scanned Michelle's face, tried to detect any hint of emotion, but she had it bottled up tight. Whatever she was feeling, she was hiding it well. Peter licked at his lips before hesitantly glancing down at the pages.

They were sketches, all of the same girl. Her face, her hair, her eyes, her hands. Close-ups, full-body drawings, each and every angle you could think of. She was a teenager, probably about their age with the same curly hair as Michelle, albeit shorter, only stretching down to the nape of her neck. Her nose and cheeks were dotted with pale freckles and she had the same birthmark as MJ, right above her lip.

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure what the girl wanted from him as he flipped between the pages, seeing more and more of the same girl. "Who is she?"

"My sister."

He lifted his head, eyes widening slightly as he blinked back at her. "You...I didn't know you had siblings."

"Just the one." Michelle turned back down to the sketchbook and flipped to the very last page where a small polaroid picture was taped to the paper. The girl held it in her hands for a moment before extending it out towards Peter, her movements slow and hesitant like she was unsure whether or not to give up the photo.

Peter carefully reached out with his one free hand and gingerly grabbed the photo, flipping it forward.

It was the same girl, same curly brown hair, and deep-tanned skin, complete with amber eyes that were just a shade lighter than Michelle's. The picture was a close up of her and a little girl she was standing next to, arm latched around the girl's shoulder as they shared identical grins. The little girl was young, maybe only eight or nine with identical curly hair and dark-tinted skin. In the background, Peter recognized Coney Island, the bare details of a Ferris Wheel poking out of the top corner.

The photo itself was fairly old, that much he could tell by the folded, wrinkled corners and the pale stains dotting the surface. And considering the sketchbook it came from was seemed to be on the new side, Peter had to assume Michelle carried the photo in every new sketchbook she got, transferring it from one book to the next.

He glanced back up at her, watching as she hugged the sketchbook to her chest. "Lucy."

He traced the edge of the photo with his finger, stared down at this younger, happier version of Michelle, and couldn't help but give a tentative smile as he stared at the two girls together. "She looks like you."

" _I_ look like _her,"_ Michelle corrected, taking a step closer so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "I was nine when this picture was taken. She was fifteen." She gave a small smirk. "I guess it took my parents a bit of time to decide they wanted _two_ kids cause there's a pretty sizeable gap, huh?"

Peter extended the picture back to her, adding in the extra pages of sketches as well. "Does it really matter?" he asked with a tilt of the head. He'd never had siblings before and his only source of info came from Ned, who couldn't fight _more_ with his little sister. But Michelle just chuckled and shook her head, bending down to place her sketchbook on the floor.

'No. It doesn't. Cause in every way that counts, she's everything you could possibly want in a sister." She opened the book back up and gently began to place the pages back in. "She's smart, kind, dedicated. She got a job at the pier just to help our parents. Back then we didn't have much money, didn't have enough to splurge on anything, just enough to pay the bills and put food on the table. So we'd usually just do little things together: board games, walking the pier, that sort of stuff.

She finished putting the pages back and closed the book, but she didn't stand back up again. She just kept kneeling, kept one hand on the cover of the sketchbook, and the other gently cupped around the photo. Peter didn't say anything, just slowly knelt down across from her. Michelle had never been one to open up about herself, especially with private information like her personal life.

Peter didn't know why she was telling him this now, especially since he'd just spent the better part of last week _hiding_ his own personal life. Why was she repaying him with her own? Still, he didn't say anything as she stared at the photo, gently brushing her fingers against the edges.

"That was one of the reasons why I got into drawing. There's only so many ways you can keep a nine-year-old entertained when you can't afford your cable bill." She rubbed her thumb against the cover of the book. "Lucy bought me my first sketchbook, you know. My first pencils, pens, paint kits, all of it. Birthdays were never more than a day to get new clothes, shoes, stuff like that. But she saved up her money from work to buy me all of it for my ninth birthday."

She smiled and gently waved the photo. "We took this picture afterward. She was the first thing I ever drew."

Her voice was different. It wasn't her usual monotonous, aloof drawl. It was quiet, soft, almost like Ned's, full of an emotion Peter couldn't pinpoint. But something about it felt...off, like this was a whole other side to the girl he wasn't meant to be seeing, a side she'd worked to cover up under biting sarcasm and disinterested eye-rolls. This wasn't defensive. This wasn't cold or uncaring.

This was... _real._

Peter swallowed, felt a gnawing in his stomach. He forced another smile. "She sounds like an awesome sister."

Michelle didn't respond to the comment, didn't even seem to register it. She lowered her hands, rested the back of them on her knees. Her fingers never strayed from the photo.

"A week later...she comes into my room while I'm drawing."

Her voice changed again. Peter noticed instantly and it makes his skin crawl.

"She seems happy to see me using her present. I tell her how much I love it."

MJ licked her lips, sucked in a small breath, too small to fill her lungs. "Then she starts talking to me...telling me how great of a sister I am, how lucky she is to know someone like me, to be related to someone like me. I'm laughing, thinking she's just being weird. She's laughing too...so much that she starts crying."

His fingers begin to twitch against the ground. He ignores the pain, just keeps watching the girl's face. It's twisting into a smile, a painful smile that makes her cheeks quiver. "Then she starts telling me how much she loves me, that nothing will ever change that."

She held up the photo. Peter noticed her hand was shaking. "And then she gives me this." She pointed to the picture, to the charm hanging around Lucy's neck. "Her necklace...the one she never takes off. An heirloom she got from a grandmother I never met." She drops her hand again, lets it sink back into her lap like she doesn't have enough energy to keep it up. "I'm shocked of course. She loves that necklace, never takes it off. But she insists." She smiled, cracked a grin, and let out a breathy laugh. "Secretly, I'm pretty happy cause I've always wanted a necklace like hers. Then she leaves. I forget about the whole conversation."

Another breath, shakier than the last. But she pushes past it like it's a barrier she has to break through. She swallows thickly, taps the edge of the photo, picks at the crease in the corner. She doesn't look up.

"They found her in the bathroom two weeks after this picture was taken."

Peter shut his eyes, turned his head away as he released a small puff of air, warm against his throat. "Michelle..."

She continued on like he hadn't spoken. Her eyes were glossy. "I've never worn it before...her necklace. It just sits in a drawer in my desk. I can't seem to put it on." The first tear falls. "It doesn't belong to me."

He can feel the gnawing begin to spread to his chest. He lets it, knows how futile it is to try and push it away. "I'm so sorry..." the words are soft, barely audible. But he knows Michelle heard it nonetheless. He knows it's useless, a pointless phrase that doesn't do anything to take away from the gravity pulling you down. But he just can't seem to say anything else.

She sniffs, wipes at her cheek as she quietly clears her throat. "Believe it or not...I was pretty lucky. My parents did as well as any parents could after that. Helped me through it, helped me grieve." Her fingers curled into the dirt, ripping at the grass poking up around her. "I...I stopped going to the pier though. Stopped walking along the boardwalk. Just...didn't feel right without her."

He watched her gingerly place the photo on top of the sketchbook like it was a piece of glass ready to shatter at any moment. "I kept drawing though. Thought it'd probably make her happy to show her that I never stopped using her gift." She brushed her fingers against the loose pages sticking out of the book. "Whenever I feel...I-I...I draw her sometimes. Makes me feel a little better. Makes me think she'd be happy with how I'm turning out."

For the first time in a while, Michelle turned her head to fully face Peter. He met her gaze, felt it was the least he could do after making her go through the sludge of memories. "Peter...my sister died five years ago. And I still miss her."

_("It's ridiculous to hold onto such debilitating things like this.")_

Peter turned away, tried to blot out the words beginning to mingle with Michelle's. He shut his eyes again, hoping to push them out of his head, hoping to get the sight of the office, the flowers, the _cold_ out of his mind. Michelle reached forward and gingerly placed her hand atop his. He bit back a wince at the touch, eyes warily focusing in on their hands as he felt her brushing her thumb against his palm.

"My parents let me grieve. Your father...he didn't...did he?" Her voice wasn't accusatory. It was gentle, helped to ease the chill washing over his skin. He didn't look up, just kept his eyes locked on their hands.

"He likes to pretend she never even existed," he whispered, the words bitter on his tongue, thick and constricting in his throat.

Michelle continued to brush her fingers against his hand, strands of hair framing her cheeks as she spoke. "Of course you still miss your mom. You never had the chance to move on. He never gave it to you." Her grip tightened. It was strong...steady. "It's not wrong to miss her, no matter what he or anybody else says.

His chest was tightening, making it harder to get in a decent breath. He could feel his hands beginning to shake in her grasp, clenched them into fists to try and force them still. It only made them quiver more. Michelle narrowed her eyes and cupped her own hands around his, guiding them to her lap. "Peter, listen to me."

Breathe. Listen. He looked up, watched as her eyes began to water once again. The gut-wrenching pain settling in his stomach grew, almost made him want to hurl again.

"My sister lied to me. She lied with her smiles and her laughter and her reassurances that everything was alright. Because it wasn't alright. _She_ wasn't alright. It wasn't..." her voice wavered, the words dying in her throat as she ducked her head, sniffling loudly as she blinked away the tears, focusing back in on her friend's face with a tight expression. "We couldn't help her...because she never let us. She drowned in all those lies...alone. I won't let that happen again. I _can't_. I can't watch you do the same thing."

And the way her voice cracked into a strangled gasp, the way a few stray tears finally began to roll down her cheeks, it made Peter want to scream, made him want to curl up and hide away from her, hide away from the anguish he was forcing onto her with his lies and his troubles and everything else she didn't deserve.

He bit at his lip, tried so hard to keep the sob from breaking through his throat. He swallowed it down, felt it bursting against his chest as a wave of guilt threatened to knock him to the floor. Instead, he ducked his head, hiding his face from hers as he felt his eyes pool with tears, the soft feeling of her fingers gently brushing at the scars on his hands finally letting them loose as he cried, opening his mouth with a pitiful whimper.

"...I'm a burden to you."

Michelle choked on a sob as she reached her hands out and wrapped her arms around Peter, dragging him forward into a hug. He shut his eyes, burying his face into her shoulder as he cried, the tears fully streaming as he clenched his teeth and shivered in her grasp. Her grip was tight, fearful and strong.

"Don't you _ever_ say that to me again! You hear me?! You get that thought out of your head right now. I don't know who put that in there and I don't care because it's _not true._ " She was crying now. He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder. "I'm here, Peter. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here because you're my friend and I care about you. _Ned_ cares about you. And I won't grieve anybody else just because they think it's easier to lie, that it'll be easier on me." She fisted at his clothes, tightened her grip around him like she was afraid he was going to disappear. "You don't get to make that decision for me, alright? You don't get to take that away from me. This is _my_ decision. My choice and I choose to be right here. Right _fucking_ here!"

She finally pulled away, bringing her hands to cup around Peter's tear-stained face. He blinked his watery eyes at her, couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her as she gently brushed her thumbs against his cheeks, clearing the tears still streaming as she gave him a quivering smile.

"Peter, please...you can rely on me, on Ned. We're here for you...through whatever comes your way, whatever comes _our_ way."

He took a breath, felt it wavering in his lungs as he fought to reign in his emotions, to pull himself back together. He shut his eyes, focused on the warmth of her hands around his cheeks, calm and comforting and everything he'd wanted for a while. He lowered his head but didn't pull out of her grasp.

"Does it ever stop feeling so bad?"

He had to know. He had to know if the gnawing would ever go away. More tears fell down his cheeks. She brushed those away as well, deep brown eyes meeting light hazel as she gave a small nod, allowing her own tears to freely flow as she smiled.

"One day...you'll remember her and it won't hurt. And we'll be here for you until that day comes...and every day afterwards."

Peter couldn't help the strangled laugh that fell from his lips, mingling with his hiccupped cries into one single emotion-filled noise as he leaned into her touch, leaned into the safety of her grip, the reassuring warmth he found himself craving.

It was the same feeling he'd felt back at the tower, back with Mr. Stark. It was bright and all-encompassing and just seemed to shut everything else out, leaving him warm and secure. Leaving him with a feeling he never wanted to give up, never wanted to lose.

So...if that meant turning to his friends for help...if that meant turning to Mr. Stark for help, then Peter would do it. He'd do whatever he had to to keep that feeling blooming in his chest, that feeling that helped him breathe, helped him feel the blood rushing through his veins and the steady beating of his heart.

For the first time in almost ten years, Peter was finally beginning to remember what it felt like to be cared for.

Footsteps.

They both turned their watery gazes towards the noise, eyes catching the sight of Ned _sprinting_ across the field, backpack jumping against his back as he stumbled as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. His face was red and he was gasping out pant after pant as he finally reached the bleachers, shrugging off the back and letting it fall to the floor as he heaved, leaning his hands into his knees as he doubled over.

Peter and Michelle blinked at him...then at each other.

Ned lowered his head, hair falling down around his eyes as he finally spoke, voice wheezy and out of breath. "Okay...I...I'm here. I...I made...it. What did...what did I miss? Michelle, y-you better...better not have been yelling t-this...whole-"

He finally looked up, the words falling short as he caught sight of his two best friends kneeling on the grass, eyes puffy and red and cheeks glistening with tears. He opened his mouth, face slowly pulling into a frown as his brows furrowed. "Umm...I...o-okay..." Ned seemed lost for words for once, shifting his weight awkwardly as he glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is...are you two okay?"

Michelle lifted a hand and wiped her cheek, sniffing loudly as she threw the boy a half-hearted smile. "We're fine, Ned. We're just...everything's fine."

The boy glanced at her, took in the sight of her glossy eyes and quivering voice, and then turned his eyes to Peter, who looked the same. "Right..." Ned bit his lower lip, hesitantly lifting a hand and pointing a thumb behind him.

"S-should...I, like... _leave?"_

Peter turned to Michelle, then back to Ned. It took a second for the words to really process in his head. Nothing about them was funny. Nothing about the situation was funny, like...at _all_. But as Peter watched Ned shuffling awkwardly in the grass, cheeks red and hands fidgeting nervously, the teen couldn't help but feel a chuckle begin to work its way up his throat, growing into a full-blown laugh as he ducked his head, eyes shutting as he doubled over.

Michelle huffed in amusement before it too began to grow, her lips spreading into a grin as she lifted a hand to her face, pressing her palm into her forehead as she leaned back with laughter.

Ned glanced between the two of them, nervously giving a small little chuckle of his own before Peter was lifting his hand to latch onto the boy's sleeve, all but _dragging_ him down to the ground with them. Ned stumbled, but quickly righted himself as a sincere grin blew across his face, spreading his arms wide and enveloping the two other teens in a bone-crushing hug as their chests bounced and their eyes filled with tears of a whole different variety.

Peter couldn't hear O'Hara anymore, didn't feel the cold chill of her office. All he could hear was the laughs of his friends and the feeling of warmth as they embraced him in their arms, ignoring the itch of the grass underneath them or the sounds of the busses pulling into the school.

At that moment, sitting under the bleachers, the three of them had something just a little more important than school.

* * *

_"Good morning from the Studio 57 News Room at NBC Broadcast Headquarters here in New York. It is Monday, May 2nd, 2016. Good to be with you. I'm Joanne Green and this morning we have two top stories to share."_

_"First off we bring you the latest developments in the supposed Rogue Avengers attack on a government weapons vault in Washington DC. Here's John Peroka with more. John?"_

_"Good morning, Joanne. I'm here at the Damage Control facility in Washington DC where early Thursday morning, at a quarter past midnight, the DC Damage Control Storage Facility shown here was infiltrated and the guards on duty were brutally attacked. Eyewitnesses and recovered camera footage confirms that the attacks were staged by Rogue Avenger Steve Rogers and his associates, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and Wanda Maximoff. Wanted war criminal and lethal assassin James Barnes was not spotted at the scene, nor was retired pararescue operator Sam Wilson, though sources from inside the facility speculate that he aided in the get-away."_

_"Now preliminary stock reports state that no weapons were stolen nor was anything tampered with save for a broken door down in the record rooms. While five guards are currently in the hospital with moderate injuries. Nobody was seriously hurt. Still, official word from Secretary Ross and Iron Patriot Colonel James Rhodes states that such attacks will not be ignored, nor will the implications be dismissed._

_"The last sighting of the Rogue Avengers was over a month ago in New York City, with eye witness reports of the Falcon flying over Brooklyn, But this latest development has many people wondering what the Avengers are playing at here and what their ultimate goal is. And with these latest attacks, many are beginning to speculate that the Rogues are finally playing into their new criminal mentality with new fears rising every day. Back to you, Joanne."_

_"Thank you, John. In other news, we are following a breaking development unfolding in Midtown's schooling district-"_

* * *

**Monday - May 2, 2016**

**Midtown School of Science and Technology - Cafeteria**

**11:46 AM**

"Whoa, whoa, wait. So...you're gonna be-"

"Staying with Mr. Stark."

"For..."

"For the whole summer."

Ned blinked at him before lifting a hand to his forehead. "I think I'm gonna pass out. I feel it. It's coming. Someone get a pillow."

Michelle threw her stale roll at his head, the bread bouncing off his face and landing on the table below. "Relax, fanboy. I don't have any smelling salts with me," she muttered before going back to her sketchbook. Despite how her face was tight with a look of concentration, Peter knew she was listening.

The lunchroom was loud as usual, kids stacking mush onto their trays, tables talking to their friends, and sneakers squeaking on the hard linoleum floor. Peter, Ned, and Michelle sat together at the end of one of the longer tables, the other members of their Decathlon team seated further down, too far to really hear anything important in their conversation.

Peter waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Besides, I'm sure he'll back out of it soon enough."

Michelle's pencil scrawled along the page, her eyes never lifting as she spoke. "What makes you say that?"

The teen glanced up at the ceiling, rubbing at the back of his neck as he puffed out a sharp breath of air. " I mean, come on. It's a pretty crazy idea, right? Offering to house me for like, two months? It's..." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Safe to say, the shock from his talk with Mr. Stark on Thursday hadn't settled. And his offer still seemed just as ludicrous as it had on that day. For not only did it hinge on the fact that the billionaire wouldn't realize how...extreme a tactic it was just to keep an eye on Peter, but also on the idea that his father would ever agree to it.

Richard Parker was a bit of a control freak, especially when it came to his son. Just the internship alone was a huge diversion from his usual manic obsession to dictate anything and everything about Peter. It gave the teen a certain freedom he wasn't used to getting from his father. So to push it even further, to actually try and leave the house, leave his father's watchful gaze and dominating hand for even two months was...crazy.

It would never work. Besides, summer was still a few weeks away. He was sure Mr. Stark would come to his senses before then. He did _tentatively_ believe the man's vows to keep Peter's secrets about his family, which in itself was a hard thing for the kid to do. But to actually believe the man was going to go through with the summer?

Peter's doubts were strong.

Ned was still bouncing in his seat, not really seeming to register what Peter was saying anymore. Michelle, however, seemed just a bit more observant, setting her pencil down as she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. "What made him offer this? Why now? Do you know?"

Peter swallowed, afraid that the girl would ask. Michelle always was one to want all the information, even when that information was hard to give. He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing away nervously as he shifted in his seat.

"Well, we kinda...maybe, well more like _I_ sort of...blew up at him on Monday... _anddd_ then again on Thursday?"

God, just saying it made him want to cringe in embarrassment.

Michelle cocked a brow and Ned finally stopped bouncing, both of them throwing him incredulous looks. " _Seriously_?"

"You yelled at Tony Stark."

"We've established his name, Ned. Thank you." MJ muttered with a roll of her eyes before she turned back towards Peter, leaning in closer as the boy fidgeted. "Why did you yell? Did he say something to make you angry?"

Peter hissed in a breath through his teeth, continued to rub at his neck. "No. Not... _exactly_. I wasn't really angry. Just frustrated that he wouldn't let it go."

Michelle's face held onto its perplexed look before it slowly began to seep into something else, her back straightening as she slowly narrowed her eyes.

"Let what go?"

His fingers drummed against the table, resting his chin in his hand as he pointedly looked away. "He might have found out about my family, like...like the _not-so-good_ stuff."

There was a beat of silence. Peter spared a tiny glance. Ned had effectively ceased his gawking and Michelle's gaze was unwavering as she stared the teen down hard. Peter drew his lips into a tight line, feeling his nerves spike just a tad.

"He knows?" Michelle finally asked, voice quiet and tight.

Peter sighed and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, missing the look his friends shared with each other as he spoke. "I think he always had a suspicion. It's probably why he offered me the internship in the first place." Not a complete lie. Peter was fairly positive without Mr. Stark's suspicions, he would have just left him alone to his own devices, suit and all.

"But after I...you know, screamed at him, I went to apologize and we sort of...talked. We came to an agreement which eventually let to him offering to house me for the summer." He pursed his lips and cocked a brow. "Not really an offer, actually. More like a statement of fact so I don't know if I really had a choice in the matter. I think he just wants me out of the house for a while."

Ned was nodding along, his earlier excitement curbed but still fairly visible in his body language. Michelle, though-

"MJ? You okay?" he asked, tilting his head as he noticed the girl beginning to stare off, eyes flitting back and forth across the surface of the table. She glanced up as he spoke, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear as she huffed a dismissive puff of air. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Peter furrowed his brow, obviously not too satisfied. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by Ned suddenly going stiff in his seat.

"Hold on a second."

They turned to him.

"Does this mean...Dude. You have to get me in there. Oh...oh my god. I actually have a chance to see the _inside_ of Avengers Tower?"

"It's not called Avengers Tower anym-"

"I could meet Tony Stark."

"You've already met him."

"I could meet him _twice_!"

Peter scoffed, not able to keep the fond smile off of his face as Ned went back to basically vibrating in his seat. If there was one person who could always drag a smile out of him, it was Ned Leeds.

His eyes drifted back over to MJ, who had gone back to glancing down at the table, eyes hard in concentration as her fingers began to tighten around the edge of the table. Her body language read anger, but her face was troubled, confused almost. Peter's eyes scrunched as he leaned in closer, sliding his hand a little closer to hers just to grab her attention. She looked up.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly, watching as her eyes stared down at the still-visible bandages wrapped around his fingers. She blinked, gazed back up at him and pinched her eyes into a look that resembled the concern she'd shown that morning. Peter straightened up at the look, realizing the girl probably had something to say. She opened her mouth.

_"What the hell?"_

_"What's going on out there?"_

_"Dudes, come look at this! It's insane!"_

All three of them turned at the sound of loud exclamations and excited chatter rising from the side of the cafeteria. Kids were beginning to get up from their tables and crowd around the door leading to the outside lunch tables. They were either pressing their faces against the glass or pouring out the door.

All three teens shared confused looks.

"What's going on?" Ned asked, furrowing his brow as he watched the rest of the Decathlon members get up from their seats to make their way over. Peter narrowed his eyes and slowly stood up, craning his neck to try and see over the crowds, but it was no use.

"I...have no idea."

Michelle didn't waste any time, getting up from her seat without another word and making her way over. Ned and Peter shared surprised looks before quickly gathering their stuff to follow after the girl.

More and more kids were streaming out the door, leaving a river of bodies to follow as the excited yelling grew, ringing loudly in Peter's ears as he winced.

Outside the kids were even more riled up, standing from their tables and excitedly pointing and gawking at something in the distance. A little more pushing and shoving and the three of them were finally away from the crowds, eyes widening and mouths falling open as they caught sight of what everyone was staring at.

_"Oh no."_

Reporters. Floods of them were pressing up against the fence surrounding the perimeter of the school, only a few yards away from the outdoor lunch tables. News vans lined the back street, reporters from what appeared to be every major and minor news station were situated in the grass., even small-time bloggers were smooshing up against the fence. They were all pointing their cameras, their microphones, their eyes towards the crowds of kids, lights flashing and voices yelling over one another.

The kids around him were going crazy, taking pictures with their own phones, waving at the cameras, a few of them even posing as the shots were taken. Peter felt his heart spike into overdrive as he caught sight of the literal mob waiting for...him, held back only by a single flimsy mesh fence.

He huffed a short breath, catching the eyes of his friends as they shared his thought. They had to go.

But as soon as Peter turned to push his way back inside, back into the safety of the cafeteria and out of the view of prying camera lenses, he felt two hands latch on to his arms and drag him backward. He yelped as he was suddenly spun around, eyes meeting the grinning face of Flash, the teen smirking maliciously at him and his panicked look.

_"Flash."_

"Where you going, Parker? Your fans are waiting."

With that, the boy began to literally push Peter through the crowd and back towards the fence. He began to dig his heels into the ground, fighting to get out of Flash's grip as he was shoved. His mind was screaming, thoughts bouncing to literally rip himself out of Flash's prickling grip and just shove the jerk straight into the ground. But now there were eyes on him, the crowd now seeming to piece together why the reporters were there in the first place. He couldn't fight back, couldn't reveal himself. He was in the spotlight now.

"Let go of me, Flash!" He continued to thrash, but Flash's grip was surprisingly tight, too tight for skinny weakling Peter Parker to realistically break free from. He could hear Michelle and Ned yelling, but there was too much noise for him to make out their exact words, too many bodies in the way for them to actually be able to help.

Flash leaned closer, his mouth next to Peter's ear as he spoke. "Guess your little buddy-buddy friendship with Tony Stark isn't all it's cracked up to be." He straightened up, facing off for all the cameras as he smiled a shit-eating grin. "Smile for the cameras!" And with that, he shoved into Peter's back, sending him sprawling out onto the floor in front of the fence.

Peter immediately whipped his head up, eyes wide and palms pressing into the rough gravel below as he tried to see through all the flashing or hear against the grating screaming of each voice mingling into one another. He shut his eyes and lifted a hand to try and block out the blinding light, hastily trying to find his bearings and get back up to his feet, only for him to feel something latch onto his wrist and drag him towards the fence.

He grunted and shot his eyes open as he literally began to get dragged closer as one of the reporters closest to the fence latched a bony hand around his wrist and began to tug hard. People were shouting questions, pushing their lenses in front of his face, a whirlwind of stimulus and frenzy that made him begin to shake, the foreign grip on his arm making him want to scream as he felt the burning sensation of a stranger's touch.

Then Michelle was there, seemingly from out of nowhere. She shoved hard against the fence, effectively shocking the reporter enough to break his grip from Peter's arm, sending him crashing back onto the floor. Ned was suddenly next to him, helping haul him to his feet as Michelle's face grew red, eyes piercing into the crowd as she pointed at the guy who'd been tugging at Peter.

"Back off, you creep! That's assault of a minor! You could be charged for that, idiot!"

The guy sneered at her. More cameras flashed. "Hey, shut up, _bitch_. You're getting in the way of our story."

She didn't back down though. In fact, Ned moved to stand in front of her, shielding Peter from the view of the cameras and the reporters pounding against the fence like literal rabid dogs.

 _"Alright! Come on! Everybody inside. Inside!"_ A group of teachers and security officers shoved their way through the crowd of students mingling by the doors, some guiding them into the cafeteria while the others rushed towards the fence, stepping in between the three teens and the media hounds. Mr. Harrington was there, turning towards the kids with wide eyes that very obviously stated he felt way in over his head. Still, he began to guide the three of them away from the fence, casting nervous glances over his shoulder at the ravenous mob rattling the fence.

"Uh...Peter," he called, once the three of them were behind the safety of the school walls again. "You're needed in the office. I suggest you...you know, hurry along."

He blinked up at the man, opening his mouth to speak only for no words to come out. He sucked in a shaky breath before giving a slow nod of his head, like the information was taking an extra-long time to register in his mind.

His friends must have noticed the look beginning to spread onto his face, for Ned quickly whirled around to face their teacher. "We're taking him there."

The man hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, only for Michelle to narrow her eyes and take a small step forward. "We're going." She didn't even wait for him to reply before she was all but dragging Peter out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the double doors to the cafeteria closed behind them, the bellowing voices died down, getting quieter and quieter the further they walked. Peter didn't look up, didn't say anything as he placed one foot in front of the other, gently rubbing at the wrist the bold reporter had grabbed. His grip had been so tight, the teen was fairly confident the skin would begin to bruise later on in the day.

"You okay, man? Did that guy hurt you?"

He breathed, one breath in, one breath out. Even, steady, _calm_. He had to stay calm.

But he didn't _feel_ very calm.

His hands were beginning to shake, fingers throbbing and heart pounding against his chest in unsteady, erratic beats. He could hear the air blowing through his nose, sharp and forced punches of air that did little to relieve the churning in his gut.

It was bad enough they were constantly swarming his house, so much so that he literally had to sneak out nowadays, but now _this?_ Pounding up against the walls of his school? Surrounding the fences and blocking the bus loops with huge news vans? It was literal _chaos_ and he was at the center of it!

How was he going to break this to his father?

They walked in silence, the quiet a stark contrast to the manic chaos they were leaving behind of students and reporters alike. It was little comfort, but it was something at least. The office wasn't too far from the cafeteria so before they knew it, they were standing outside the door.

One breath in.

"Peter."

One breath out.

He turned, met the worried gazes of his friends. He bit at his lip, eyes scrunching. "I...I didn't think they'd find the school." He swallowed, his throat bone-dry all of a sudden.

Michelle and Ned shared another look before the girl was taking a step forward. Peter lifted his head, stared back at her confident look. "It'll be fine. We'll deal with it and this will all blow over in a few days."

And the way she said it, the sheer unshakable certainty lacing her words almost made Peter believe it. "Y-yeah?"

"Dude, you kidding? Of course! These guys have the attention spans of baby squirrels with ADHD." Ned rolled his eyes, grinning with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be fawning over some new viral cat video or something. You'll see."

It was total bullshit.

This was the story of the _year_. Richard Parker _and_ Tony Stark involved in one setup, two of the most powerful men in the city, one of them a current Avenger, the other a local hero around the streets and a staple in said city? And now with a kid in the center of all of it? This was media gold and Peter knew it.

And the way his friends were standing, their shifting postures and flitting eyes told him they were lying. It told him that they were just as unsure about all of it as he was, that they didn't really _believe_ what they were saying.

But they still said it. They said it and they knew he didn't believe them but they said it anyway. They said it to make themselves feel better. They said it to make _him_ feel better. Peter couldn't ignore that. So, if only to play along with their efforts, he gave them a small smile. It was shaky and nervous, but it was there.

"You think so?"

Ned scoffed. "I _know_ so."

Peter chuckled, glanced down at the ground as he felt his hands lose just a bit of their shakiness. Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away as she stared at him with those deep brown eyes of hers, face calm and reassuring. "Everything's going to be fine, Peter. Just relax. Keep calm, trust your instincts, and _keep_ _breathing_. Don't panic."

He tapped his undamaged fingers against his leg, gave a small nod of his head.

The girl glanced behind him at the door waiting to be opened before moving her eyes back to him, finally letting a small smile of her own spread to her lips. "You'll be fine. If not...you have our numbers. Use them."

Her voice was firm. His nod was steady this time.

She seemed satisfied with his answer, taking a step back with Ned at her side. Peter threw the two of them one last grateful look before taking his first real _deep_ breath, turning to the door before him.

The principle was probably going to send him home, maybe call one of the Cons to come pick him up or if he was lucky, he'd be able to convince the man to let him walk home by himself. His father would most definitely be upset, likely over the fact that the media storm his son had inadvertently created was still causing issues, _growing_ issues if the reporters now outside his school were any indication. But it would be fine. He'd think of what to say to his father on the way home, take the time to come up with something to calm the man down from his assuredly impending anger.

He could do this.

He curled his fingers, lifted his hand and rested his palm against the handle, shutting his eyes for a brief second before pushing it open, leaving his two friends behind as he stepped inside, shut the door...

...and promptly felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"There you are, Peter." Richard said with a smile as he turned in his seat, Principal Morita and Ms. O'Hara turning to look at him as well. His father was seated at one of the cushioned chairs opposite the principal's desk, O'Hara standing next to Morita as the man gave Peter a warm smile.

"Thanks for getting here so fast, Peter. I just got word that the reporters have moved towards the back dining area. I hope they didn't give you much trouble."

Richard was staring at him with his deep brown eye and his faded gray one, the pale chemical burns on his cheek seeming all the more pronounced in the harsh fluorescent lights above them, making each and every pale white dot stand out even more around his eye. His face was lax, a calm wash of passive energy that was concrete and near perfect. His posture, his tone, even the slight smile on his lips played into the look, giving him an aura of gentle concern that could truly fool anyone.

But his eyes...

His eyes were smoldering. Peter could see it in the slight twitches around the corners, the barely noticeable tapping of his fingers, the crease in his jawline that showed he was clenching his teeth.

His father wasn't just mad. He was _pissed._

The man leaned forward in his chair slightly, furrowing his brow. "Peter. Don't be rude," he said softly yet sternly.

The teen was so lost in the sudden static panic building in his chest that he'd completely forgotten that Mr. Morita had spoken to him. He turned to the man, felt his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, his throat seizing as the air literally faded from his lungs, vision suddenly hazy and skull creaking under the pressure.

A tap of the foot. Richard was tapping his foot.

A cue.

_You're on, Peter._

The teen straightened up, giving a small shake of his head as he smiled and placed a hand to his forehead. "Right...uh, sorry. I guess I'm still a little shaken up by all of this." He could hear his voice, feel the words leaving his mouth without so much as a second thought from him, instinct kicking in as he spoke.

O'Hara smiled and Peter felt his spine tingle as she stared at him. Ned and MJ weren't here to shield him from the chill of her gaze anymore. He was exposed. "I'm sure, sweetie. But rest assured we're going to take this very seriously."

Morita nodded, face hard and lips pulled into a stern frown. "That's right. I understand that it's probably a fairly difficult time for you two but you don't have to worry about a thing. We'll increase security around the perimeter of the school and set up points right outside every entrance. Nobody who isn't supposed to be in here is getting in and we're certainly not going to tolerate them harassing you, Peter," he said, giving the boy a gentle smile.

His heart was pounding, skin crackling as he dragged another reassuring smile onto his face, feeling the strings on his face pulling taut. "Thank you, but it's really no problem. I can handle a few camera flashes."

_Keep breathing. Keep breathing._

Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair as he gave the principal an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Jim. I hate how much trouble we're causing for you." He glanced over the principal's shoulder and out the window, where they could still see news vans pulling up onto the street. Richard grimaced. "I knew they were getting pretty pushy but I never expected them to find Peter's school, let alone actually _show up_ here. I figured they'd at least extend us the courtesy."

O'Hara hummed a sickly tune. "Courtesy isn't really what they're known for if I do recall correctly."

Jim waved a hand at Richard's apologies. "It's no trouble at all, Rich. I'm just sorry you have to deal with this at _all."_

The man gave a small nod of his head, straightening the buttons on his suit. "Yes well...it's being handled."

Peter felt his fingers curl behind his back, nails digging into his palms in a tight pinch of grounding pain.

O'Hara, of course, giggled incessantly at the man as she cheekily grinned. "I'm sure. You _always_ seem to have a handle on these sorts of things."

"Well, let's just say I have plenty of experience fending off the overexcited media drabble. They really _do_ mean well most of the time. It's just...they can be a bit... _aggressive."_

Morita chuckled at that. "No kidding. I basically got them breaking down the fences outside."

Richard sat up a bit straighter at that, face concerned. "I'll be happy to pay for any damages they might cause."

"Nonsense. You already give enough." Jim spared a small glare out the window. "Besides, it's not your fault, Rich. No sense in making you pay for it."

Richard paused for just a beat, grunting a humored huff as he drummed his fingers against his knee. "Well, _someone's_ gonna pay."

He didn't look at his son as he said it, didn't need to.

Peter already knew.

Morita, of course, was oblivious to the sudden shift in Peter's body language as he chuckled. "If it's anything serious, I can always just pull the security footage and send _them_ the bill. I'm sure those guys over at NBS and CBS have some money to spare.

They laughed. They actually laughed...like Peter's impending doom wasn't sitting a mere two feet from him, as if his father's rage wasn't lying in wait, creeping along the floor and latching onto his legs, dragging him down with the weight of his fear. Peter smiled, held in the scream trying to tear through his cheeks.

Richard sighed. "I guess you do have a point there. But all things considered, I think it would probably be best to take Peter home for the remainder of the day so we can plan what to do next. Safe to say, the two of us have a lot to talk about."

_Keep breathing. Breathe. Breathe, idiot!_

Jim nodded and O'Hara placed a hand on the principal's shoulder in support. "I'm sure. Well, just know that you have Midtown's _full_ support. If you need anything at all, we'd be happy to aid one of our most generous benefactors and one of our best students. Safe to say, your family is _very_ important to us here."

Richard smiled, a warm look of gratitude that must have taken decades to fake so well. "I appreciate that. Really I do." He turned towards the teen. "Peter?" he coaxed.

The teen turned his smile towards the principal, clenching his hands so tightly behind his back, he could _hear_ the bones in his broken fingers beginning to shift and grind against each other. "Thank you so much for all of this."

Jim smiled back at him. "It's no problem, Peter. Just be careful out there, okay?"

Richard stood up from his chair and it took all of Peter's willpower to not flinch as the man wrapped his enormous hand around his son's shoulder, nearly engulfing his thin frame in his palm. "Don't worry. I'll be keeping a close eye on him."

His hold tightened, Peter swallowing the rocks pressing against his throat as he felt the man's fingers begin to dig into his skin.

Morita stood up from his seat and O'Hara followed as they escorted the father and son to the door, the woman cracking her mouth into a toothy grin as she stared down at the boy. "Bye, Peter. Remember, if you ever want to talk about anything, my door is always open."

_Breathe. Breathe. Don't pass out._

Richard smiled and took a step towards the woman, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "You're a doll, Holly." He turned and extended a hand to the principal. "Jim."

The man shook it with vigor, smiling as he opened the door for them. "Thanks for your time, Rich. You parked in the back, right? I think they're more focused on the front fences so you should be good."

"Got it. I'll see you next week for the finances meeting."

"See you then."

The door shut.

And Peter was alone with his father.

It was like a switch. As soon as the click of the door settled in the air, Richard's face lost its smile, eyes dimming and a set frown falling onto his face. His posture tensed and his breathing leveled out into a deeper, slower rhythm.

The hallways were _terrifyingly_ empty, no stragglers or potential witnesses lurking the floor, no principals to watch or friends to observe. The silence was near deafening, echoing off the walls in thick waves of nothing, leaving Peter to listen to the pounding of his heart and the clicking of the bones in his fingers shifting with each twitch of his hand.

Richard didn't turn to him, didn't look at him or even so much as speak. All he did was turn on his heel and begin to briskly make his way down the hall. Peter watched him go for a half-second of frozen terror before sucking in a shaky breath and falling in line after the man. He tried not to look up, tried not to see the veins in the man's hand pulsing slightly in time to his heartbeat or the stiff manner in which he walked, as if he were physically holding in his anger.

They made their way towards the back exit to the school where, just as Morita had said, the faculty parking lot was empty of any news vans or impeding mobs. His father's car wasn't hard to spot in the line-up of beat-up old trucks, vans, and sedans that could be afforded on teacher salaries. It stuck out like a sore thumb by the edge of the lot.

They continued on in silence, even as Peter slid into the passenger seat and his father joined him, wordlessly started the car, and pulled away from the school.

Peter faced forward, didn't look at his father, didn't look out the window, just kept his eyes straight and his back rigid against the stiff leather seats, as if he could simply disappear if he remained absolutely still. His undamaged hand fisted around his pants, fingers digging into the denim around his knees as he begged his foot to keep from tapping. The air in the car was tense, so thick and suffocating that Peter could feel it wrapping around his throat, sinking deep into his chest as it pressed down against him, making his skin bubble with goosebumps and set a continuous stream of nerves tingling down the back of his neck.

But he didn't need his senses to tell he was in danger.

They continued on in silence for a good couple of minutes as Richard drove. He wasn't erratic or frustrated in his driving: stopped at every red light, merged seamlessly with oncoming traffic, used his blinkers. They were not the signs of a man teeming with rage. But his grip on the steering wheel told a different story.

It only took a few more minutes of driving for Peter to realize where they were going. But before he could decide how he felt about it, they were pulling up to another red light and Richard suddenly tapped his fingers against the wheel, impressions from his hands leaving indents in the grips.

"Do you enjoy causing problems?" He didn't turn, didn't look at his son. Just kept his eyes on the light and his voice unnaturally calm. Peter resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

"No."

"Do you like making things difficult for people?"

"No."

"So maybe you can explain to me what your reasons are for continuing to do so. Hmm...? Care to share?" This time he did turn, pointing his burning stare at Peter.

"Well let me try. See, I give you one simple task. _One_. Take the internship with Stark and lie in wait until we give you further instructions." He took both hands off the wheel, making Peter flinch at his sharp movements. "Done. Simple. So simple, in fact, that even someone as incompetent and useless as you can't mess it up." The man scoffed, letting out a little chuckle as he ran a hand down his face. "And yet, lo and behold, you still find a way. I'm almost impressed, Peter."

The light changed. The man started driving. Peter kept silent.

" _'Take the internship.'_ That means get him coffee, make copies, file his papers. But in your mind that somehow turns into _'set off a media storm scandal.'"_ He shook his head, lips pursed into a tight smile as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "God, I could kill you right now," he chuckled.

Peter shut his eyes, felt the shakiness of his next breath hesitantly entering his chest, like his own lungs were too afraid to keep working. "I'm sorr-"

"I was willing to let it go when it was just those idiots around the house." The man continued like the teen hadn't even spoken. "Whatever. I can deal with that. But now they're proving just how far they're willing to go for this story." His eyes narrowed, grip tightening on the wheel in a white-knuckle squeeze. "And you know what? Why wouldn't they? This is only the story of the century that you just handed right to them, basically served it up to them on a silver platter."

He turned back to his son with a sharp, sinister stare. "See, you know what I don't like, Peter?" His voice was ice now. Peter could feel it beginning to frost over his skin in a familiar nauseating chill. "I don't like having to deal with unnecessary problems. And this...is definitely unnecessary. And I most certainly have to deal with it now."

Peter couldn't help it now. His foot began to tap against the floor of the car, matching in time to the frantic beating of his heart and the unnerving thrumming banging around his head. He tightened his jaw and tore his eyes away from the windshield, dragging them down to the floor instead as he longed for the silence again, no matter how unsettling it was.

Another red light. The car stopped.

"You know what I have going on, aside from the pointless, time-wasting trips I'm now making to your school? I have people at work coming up to me asking about you, asking if everything's okay with us, poking their noses in places it doesn't belong and accusing me of using my _own son_ as a spy against Tony _fucking_ Stark!"

Maybe it was the sudden shouting or the inclusion of Mr. Stark or maybe even some left-over confidence from his talk that morning with his friends, but Peter suddenly found himself glaring at the red-tinted floor from the lights outside the car, new bitter words leaving his mouth before he could think better of them.

"Well isn't that _exactly_ what you're doing? Not my fault people are finally calling you out."

. . .

Silence.

. . .

 _Grave_ silence.

Peter's eyes widened and his heart seized up into his throat, effectively blocking any and all air from entering as he whipped his eyes towards the man. Richard was staring at him, face stoic and muscles tight.

It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that look. Just that weekend, he'd gotten it from Max after he'd egged him on and right before the man had slammed him into a mirror. It wasn't anything he'd never seen before.

But this was different. This was his father.

Sandra and Flint and even Max had their restrictions, the lines they couldn't cross with him. Lines put in place by his father. Even though he knew the dangers and was smart enough to avoid ticking them off, Peter always found it was just a little easier to talk back to the Cons. Because at the end of the day, they took their orders from someone else and that someone else typically made it a point to keep him alive.

But this was his father. His father took orders from nobody. There were no lines set for him, no restrictions. He could do whatever he wanted and nobody could stop him.

Peter remembered this too late.

The light turned green and Richard calmly faced forward once again. Peter felt his hands begin to violently shake in his lap as the man veered away from the center lane and turned off of the main street. His toes curled in his shoes and his ears rang with the sudden echo of blood circulating through. The car pulled off into another path and as they drove off this new lane, the traffic slowly began to dwindle, the people on the streets dropped to zero and the buildings began to grow more and more decrepit.

Another turn and Peter caught sight of the construction zone, an abandoned plot of land surrounded by crumbling buildings and empty walkways. He couldn't feel his heart beating anymore. It was going too fast, a blur of motion that left him breathless and light-headed.

Richard pulled into the lot and shut the car off with a resounding click, pulling the keys from the ignition and pocketing them.

"Get out of the car."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I won't say it again." With that, Richard opened up his own door and stepped out, shutting it with a loud bang and leaving Peter to tremble in his seat. The teen felt each breath leaving his mouth in a violent heave of movement, like his body was physically throwing up each exhale. With a shaky hand, the teen latched his quivering fingers around the handle of the door and slowly pushed it open, taking a second to find his feet and rise up from the seat.

Richard had moved around the car and was now standing outside his door. Peter turned around, slowly pressed the door shut, and rested his palms against the glass, head down and eyes shut as he waited for the inevitable.

"Turn around."

_Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Do as you're told._

Locking his jaw, Peter felt his feet crunching underneath gravel as he hesitantly began to move. But before he was even able to fully turn around, a huge fist was slamming into his cheek, the force so strong that it literally knocked him off his feet with a shocked cry. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder jarring into the gravel as he banged his head against the floor. He was barely able to glance back up before another fist was connecting with his face, knocking him back onto his stomach with a shuttering gasp.

"You know, when Max told me you'd been mouthing off to him, I almost didn't believe it," Richard sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the top of the car. "I didn't think you'd do something so stupid and so disrespectful." He began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "I thought I taught you better than that. I'm very disappointed in you, Peter."

He lurched down, connecting another hit with Peter's cheek and another with his eye as he went down. The teen floundered on the floor, pressing his palms into the sharp stones below in hopes of finding some leverage, only for Richard to kick his arms out from under him, sending him sprawling back onto the ground. The teen groaned, eyes blinking back open in shock as Richard forcefully turned the kid onto his back and began to straddle him, threateningly leaning in as close as possible.

"See, I can't have you mouthing off to him. And I certainly can't have you mouthing off to _me._ " He reached down and latched his hand around Peter's bandaged fingers. The teen's eyes widened.

"You understand?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, I understand!"

Richard pinched his face. "Hmm...I don't think you do." And with that, he curled his beefy hand into a fist, crushing Peter's already broken fingers in his vice-like grip. Peter shrieked as he felt the bones crunch under the stress, yanking and pulling at his arm as the man tightened his hold, throat burning at the sheer volume of his cry as his hand cracked with white-hot fire.

"I do! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I just-"

Another fist to his cheek cut him off with a loud grunt of pain as Richard finally released the teen's hand, rising back up to his feet with a gleam in his eyes and a certain unsettling edge of calm in his voice, like he was simply talking about the weather and not beating his son on the edge of an abandoned construction zone.

"I know you're sorry. But I don't need you to be sorry, Peter. I need you to learn."

He reared his foot back and delivered a sharp, swift kick to the teen's gut, literally knocking the air out of him in a violent sputtering gasp. "I have. I-I have learned," Peter stuttered, voice cracking as the words wavered on his tongue, fighting to get out as he shook. "Please, I-"

"Well if that's true then why are we still doing this?" Another kick, this time to the face. "Why do you still force me to do this?" And another, quick and precise to the ribs. "Why do you have to push every button?"

Peter groaned, pressing his cheek into the gravel as he felt his eyes beginning to burn, hot tears prickling at the corners. Richard leaned down and grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair, lurching his neck up in a painful jerk. "You cause this. _You_ make me do this. Not me. This is all on you so don't you start crying like you're the victim in all of this when you brought this all upon yourself."

He delivered a sharp slap across the face, making spittle fly from the teen's mouth. Peter dragged in a shuttering breath, eyes crunching as he grasped at his father's wrist, hoping to alleviate the pressure ripping at his skull. "I was just t-trying to do what I thought you wanted!"

Richard curled his lip, violently slamming Peter's head down into the floor, pressing his arm down against the back of his neck. "See, that's the problem. You're not _supposed_ to think! Not when I don't tell you to." Peter gritted his teeth, felt the stones underneath slicing into his cheeks as his hands scrabbled against the ground. "You're supposed to wait and obey like a respectful, dutiful son. Is that really so much to _ask?!"_ He drove his foot into the kid's side again, making him buckle under the intensity as he tried to curl in on himself, Richard's tight grip against his neck making it impossible.

"I give you food when you're good and a roof over your head. I even take the time to teach you important life lessons and you're _still_ ungrateful."

Another kick. Peter gasped, felt his ribs creaking and his stomach squelching. He shut his eyes tightly, willed the tears back lest they make his father angrier. "No. I...I am. I'm g-grateful. I swear."

Richard wrenched the teen's head up again, Peter yelping at the sudden pain in his neck. "Well, I start to question that the second _you_ begin to question my authority!" The man pulled back and delivered a full punch to the kid's nose, Peter literally falling backward at the force behind it as his nose cracked and blood spurted into the air.

He landed with a _thud_ against the gravel, coughing against the blood dripping from his nose and into his mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut again, tried to fight down the churning nausea looming in his gut. He coughed, blood splattering the stones underneath him. "I was wrong...I-I'm sorry. I...I w-was wron-"

An extra sharp kick right to the stomach cut him off with a choked gurgle, the teen barely having any time to turn onto his side before he was spewing bile from his mouth, body shaking as his stomach heaved and rolled with the burning pain of each blow. His chest creaked and his head shrieked with an intense blinding pain, jaw locking and body trembling from the strain. He heaved a few more times and the last dribbles of vomit left his lips with a soft cry. No longer able to hold the tears, Peter ducked his head, felt the blood dripping down his face mingling with the new drips rolling down his cheeks.

He heard his father sigh, heard the sound of gravel shifting under the man's shoes. Peter didn't look up, just kept his eyes shut and his shaking hands fisting into the sharp stones below, the bright burning pain of his broken fingers making the tears fall faster.

"You think I want to do this?" His father's voice was calm, eerily so. "You think I want to make you hurt like this? Because I don't. I'd never want this, Peter. But I know it's necessary."

Distantly, Peter could make out the soft sound of far-off cars passing by. He prayed one would come, prayed there were some stragglers on the streets, someone to see, someone to come check, someone for his father to pretend for.

"I can't have you acting so disrespectful without any consequences."

But there was no one. No one to see. No one to help. No one but his father.

"What is it I always tell you?"

And suddenly the silence of the empty streets was killed by the familiar sounds of a belt buckle unfastening. Peter's breath shuddered. He opened his eyes and stared down at his fingers, crooked and bloodied against the darkening stones, lone tears dripping onto the skin.

"Discipline's...important."

He heard his father hum in approval. Everything in him teetered with a sudden chill, a thick, sticky fear that latched into his heart and began to settle in his bones. He coughed, sputtered on some more blood that was beginning to clog his nose and stick to his throat. His father was silent. Peter knew what he was waiting for. He spoke, voice shaky, uneven, _pathetic_ _._

 _"_ I...I'm s-sorry..."

He heard his father's voice above him, cold and uncaring. "What are you sorry for?"

"For causing p-problems. F-for causing you...problems. I-inconveniencing you. I shouldn't be s...such a pain. This is all my f-fault. All...all of it."

"Really? Cause just a few minutes ago, you said-"

"I was wrong." Peter's hands curled into the gravel, the bones in his fingers shifting and clicking with each twitch, crunching against his skin in a grating pull. "I...I was wrong. It _is_ my fault. A-all of this is...is my fault. I make you do this. I-I'm sorry."

He heard the sand shifting again and suddenly his father came into view, the man crouching down next to him, eyes peering down at the bloodied face of his son. "That's right," he purred, slowly bringing the belt into view. Peter couldn't help the whimper that fell from his lips as he saw it, the ends fastened tightly in the man's grip, creating a thick, solid loop of leather. The teen heard the shaking of his breathing and the soft sound of his cries as the man began to brush the belt against his son's cheek, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the looming threat that made his body shiver.

Richard rested it against the underside of Peter's chin and used it to lift the teen's head up just a bit. "And what are you going to do to make up for it?"

_Breathe. Breathe. He couldn't breathe anymore._

"Whatever you say. I'll do whatever you say, w-whatever you want."

He could practically feel it already, feel it slicing into his skin, tearing through his flesh in thick bands of burning leather.

"Because?"

"Because I o-owe you everything. I owe you my life. A-and I'm grateful for everything y-you...do for me, everything you teach me. Y-you're my father and you deserve...deserve my respect."

Richard whipped the belt away and Peter literally gasped in shocked relief as it moved away from him. The man straightened up but didn't put the belt away. "You need structure. You need discipline."

His head was fuzzy now, his tongue dry and his throat tight. It was hard to see, mainly because one of his eyes was swelling shut and the other had drops of blood from his forehead dripping in the way. "You're right."

"I'm always right."

"You're always right." He tried to glance up, but the man was standing just underneath the sun, which harshly glared down at him, as if even _it_ knew just how disappointing he was. He turned away. "T-thank you for teaching me."

The gravel shifted again. Richard was stepping closer. Peter fought the urge to curl back up again, didn't really have the energy to anymore. He could feel the looming force of his father, the overwhelming suffocating air swirling around him. Richard's voice was deathly low, a quiet shiver that made Peter's spine tingle.

"Would you ever betray me, Peter?"

The belt snapped above him, a horrifyingly loud sound that made his bones ache and his stomach shrivel. His heart stuttered, a dying noise that echoed in his ears. " _No_. Never. I'd n-never betray you. I live to serve you."

Richard sighed and reached a hand down towards Peter's hair. He didn't yank at it, just rested it atop his head, a heavy weight that could snap his neck without even trying, an ominous threat. But when he spoke again, it was calm, collected, his usual tone of voice. "I choose to believe that, Peter. Because I choose to believe in my son as any good father does. And if you _ever_ let me down again-"

The belt curled around his neck, tightening so fast that Peter didn't even have time to drag in a hasty breath before his head was being jerked back. Peter's eyes widened as Richard leaned down next to him, lips mere inches from the boy's ear. "... _you_ can sure as hell believe that I will make you suffer." He could feel the man's breath against his skin, hot and hellish, and inescapable. The belt tightened. Peter wheezed and lifted his hands to his neck, felt the band cutting into his skin. "And why is that?"

Peter didn't fight the man's hold on him this time, didn't try and pry his fingers underneath the belt to try and alleviate the pressure. He whimpered and held back more tears, but he didn't fight.

"B-because I'll deserve it."

"Because you'll deserve it." With that, the man released the ligature, Peter falling to his hands and knees with a ragged gasp of air. But before he could really take a steadying breath, Richard was looping a hand around his son's arm, nearly crushing it as he dragged him up to his feet and shoved him towards the car, the teen slamming into the side with a grunt as he tried desperately not to fall back down to his feet. "Now get in the car."

With that, the man went about fixing himself up again, readjusting his tie and rolling his sleeves back down. Peter couldn't really hear him over the loud whining filling his ears, didn't turn to him. Instead, he focused on the car, focused on pressing his shaking hands against the glass, cold and chilly against his skin. He could feel the throbbing of his ribs, the blood on his face sticky and wet.

It took a few tries, but eventually, Peter was able to wrap his shivering hands around the handle and secure it well enough to finally pry the door open, sliding down into his seat and swallowing down the burst of pain that flared from his body as it jarred against the car.

Richard joined a few seconds later, shutting his door and setting the keys in the ignition without any hesitation. The car purred to life, vibrating under Peter's legs. The teen didn't move, didn't make any noise. Instead, he listened to his breathing, listened to the sound of his heart thudding against his chest, sickly and sharp in his ears as it mingled with the sharp whine. He stared down at his lap, stared at his quivering hands, and the sickening crookedness of his fingers, the skin red, purple, and black as it swelled. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his breaths too ragged and torn to safely breathe through his nose as his neck burned from the ligature he could still feel slicing into his skin.

The car pulled out of the lot without another moment's hesitation and a few turns later found them back on the main road, as if nothing had ever happened, a short seven minutes that had never occurred.

Said man drove without so much as an out of place twitch in his fingers, falling right back into the calm methodical routine of blinkers, turn signals, and merges, just like every other car on the road. So when he reached back over towards Peter, the teen couldn't help but flinch so badly he slammed his shoulder into the side of the door.

Richard rolled his eyes, but diverted his hand to the glove box in front of the kid, pulling it down and grabbing a spare towel stuffed inside, haphazardly tossing it to the teen. "You sure you can handle those bullies at school, Peter? They're really starting to do a number on you."

Peter hesitantly wrapped his fingers around the towel that had fallen into his lap, fighting not to rip the cloth to shreds in his trembling, white-knuckle grasp.

The stage lights were on, blinding in his eyes, burning his retinas. But the Audience was waiting. His line:

"N-nothing I can't handle...sir."

The car rolled to a stop at another red light, Richard turning to give the boy a hard look and ever so slightly reaching a hand over to grab the teen's face, gently turning his head to face him. Peter knew not to pull away, choked down the heart-stuttering fear that jolted at the touch.

The man let out a small breath, stared at his son's bleeding and bruising face. He lifted a thumb and wiped at some of the blood dotting Peter's chin. His finger was rough and scrapped up against one of the cuts on his face but Peter didn't flinch. Richard sighed.

"You know I love you, Peter."

_Keep breathing._

And he did. Because who was he to disobey?

"...I know. I love you too."

* * *

**Monday - May 2, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**12:23 PM**

Excedrin _sucked_.

At least, this was the conclusion Tony was beginning to come to as he glared down at the labels on the back of the bottle, trying to see which information he found first: the average wait time for the pills to take effect or the company complaint number. Safe to say, he had an earful for them.

But quickly deciding he'd rather not waste the precious energy he was just starting to get back on a couple of low-level corporate monkeys, the man sighed and pushed the pill bottle away from him, shutting his eyes as he rested his head down on the desk.

His body burned with a teeming exhaustion he could feel all the way down to his bones, a heavy weight that pressed down around him and made his tongue feel all fuzzy and his head all hazy. There was a constant ringing in his ears, a soft whine that was just loud enough to be annoying. It grated on his senses and made him long for the deepest, darkest room they could find, complete with sound-proof walls and a heavy-duty lock on the door.

Sunday had come and gone and while every hour without another dose of alcohol strengthened his resolve, the symptoms had yet to fully pass. The nausea had left by the time he'd woken up that morning, but in its place was a deep sense of weariness and a teeming throb of a headache that made him grit his teeth and fight against his instincts to get his suit and fly down to the corporate office of the closest migraine medication company to demand they explain their ridiculous wait-times.

Of course, this was the longest he'd ever held out for a detox session so safe to say, he wasn't about to bail out now. He'd made it this far. He was going to see it to the end, especially since all of Pepper's research suggested that he was in the final few stages. One more day and his system should be completely wiped of any and all traces of alcohol.

The thought made him feel...strange. Not bad, just...weird. He'd never gone more than a day or two without a drink for the past few decades or so, and even then the sheer anxiety that began to tingle through his muscles whenever he was in need of a fix always won him over in the end, leading to a glass or two even at the most inopportune moments.

It was classic alcoholism. He could see it now, even with the fuzz clouding his head at the moment. In his long list of failures, it definitely wasn't the _worst_ , not by a long shot. But it was his longest-running misstep and the idea of finally stumbling back up to his feet was a foreign thought. Once again, not bad, just... _weird._

He felt weird. There was no other way to explain it.

Oh, well. At least he was finally out of the bathroom.

"You know, I didn't think I could hate the guy more, but if Rogers ever crosses my path again, I am going to shove that shield so far up his ass they'll have to roll him to the ER."

Tony lifted his head up with a small smirk as Rhodey barged into the room, face streamed and posture rigid with anger. the braces on his legs whirred as he moved.

"Hey, platypus. How was your trip with Ross? You guys take pictures?"

"Plenty. And in all of them, you'll see Ross with that vein in his head growing larger and larger in every shot. I mean, by the time I left it was practically shouting orders."

Tony chuckled before resting his head back down on his arms. A small part of him still felt guilty over Rhodey having to deal with Ross instead of him, but that small part was largely outweighed by his burning disdain for the Senator mingled with the stomach bile he was certain he would have thrown up all over the man had he gone to see him.

Honestly, not a bad picture to imagine.

He heard the braces whirring again and a moment later a hand was resting down on his shoulder, a much calmer air radiating off the Colonel as he took a few deep breaths. "How you feeling, man?"

"Well...I'm currently living off of a steady diet of overpriced bottled water and shitty migraine medicine so all in all, it could be worse."

The weight didn't leave his shoulder. He sighed and lifted his head from his arms once again, eyes meeting the Colonel's concerned stare. Tony straightened up slightly in his seat, leaning back with a rub of the eyes. "I'm fine. Really. Should be fully cleared in a day or two."If there was anything that was going to make detoxing worse, it was _talking_ about it. So he cleared his throat, resting his hand back down against the armrest. "Tell me about DC."

Rhodey sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing's really changed since I gave Pepper the update yesterday. Still no sign of any theft or tampering. The guards in the hospital are going to make full recoveries. No records were deleted, no flies corrupt."

The billionaire shook his head, pressing a hand against his mouth as he focused on breathing, focused on feeling the air enter his lungs. Rhodey kept talking, pacing back and forth across the room as he vented the frustrations he, no doubt, built up over his time with Ross. The Senator just seemed to have that sort of effect on people. His friend's words began to jumble together as Tony shut his eyes and waited for the growing ringing in his ears to settle, a deep hum that bounced off the walls and rattled against his teeth.

"I mean...what were they thinking? Are they just trying to make things more difficult for us?"

Wait. A question. Was it a question for him? Just in case, the man ran the words back around in his throbbing head and shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past them." He drummed his fingers against the armrest, grimacing slightly as his head gave an extra sharp twinge of pain. Rhodey grumbled something and took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of Tony's desk.

The billionaire twisted around in his seat, turning to face the window, face the city below. "How hard of a hit are we taking from this?"

He could hear Rhodey tapping his own fingers against his leg braces, a tick Tony noticed he'd developed once the braces had actually come on. "People are angry, well... _angrier_. They're asking what you're going to do about it, what the Avenges are going to do about it?"

At that, Tony couldn't help but scoff. "Avengers. What Avengers? You, me and Vision are the only ones still here, the android hasn't left the compound in two months and the rest of our _'teammates'_ are terrorizing guards and playing laser tag in government vaults. Avengers..."

Any other time, Tony probably would have been feeling bad in that moment, recounting just how frayed and dismantled their team had become. But with the added pressure behind his eyes, the tingling anxiety bubbling over his skin, and the sheer stupidity of Rogers' actions, he found he could feel nothing but contemptuous anger. "What am I going to do about it?" He echoed Rhodey's question. "Nothing, if I can help it. _Legally_ , I'm not mandated to, either. Not yet, anyway. Not until the Accords are fastened down tight. Till then, Ross can run around all he wants playing Big Boy Senator, but he's not going to drag me down into Rogers' little circus."

He glared out the window, fingers wrapping tight around the armrest. "I'm done dealing with that shit." Another twinge of pain. He grimaced and rested his head back into his hand.

"Ross isn't going to like that."

"Even better."

The sharp sound of clacking heels made them both turn towards the entrance of the office, Pepper storming in not even a second later, face tight with worry. She spared no hesitations, reaching for the remote on the corner of Tony's desk and whirring around to the TV hanging in the corner. "You need to see this."

_"-coming to you live from Midtown School of Science and Technology, which earlier today, was confirmed as the official school of Queens resident, Peter Parker, son of corporate figurehead Richard Parker."_

Tony lurched from his chair, ignoring the flare that spiked through his head. In the corner of his eye, he could see Rhodey doing the same.

_"In the past week, Peter Parker has been confirmed in sightings with billionaire Tony Stark - owner of Stark Industries and top competitor with Parkstem Labs, Richard Parker's own company, leading many to speculate as to the relationship between the two and to Peter Parker's involvement."_

_"Earlier this morning, we brought you live footage of Peter Parker on school grounds but have yet to receive an official comment from either Parkers or Stark. Continued coverage on the school-"_

"When did this first air?"

"40 minutes ago." Pepper muttered, muting the TV before angrily tossing the remote back onto the table. "They really have no boundaries, do they?"

Rhodey cocked a brow. "It's the media, Pep. Of course not."

Tony's eyes stayed locked on the muted TV, on the images of the kid's school splashed across the screen, mountains upon mountains of news vans and reporters swarming in the background. His head spiked. He swallowed it down. "Right. I, uh...okay. Okay, Happy. I need to call Happy and arrange a pickup for the kid." The words tumbled from his mouth so haphazardly he might as well have been puking them up into a toilet again. Pepper and Rhodey seemed to understand the urgency though, for they both pulled out their phones.

_"Boss?"_

"Not now, FRIDAY. Pepper, what time does he get out again?"

"2:30"

He ran a hand through his hair. Another spike, another surge of nerves. He could feel himself getting jittery. "Right. Okay, okay, two hours. Two hours. I can make that work. Just gotta..." He reached a shaky hand towards the pills on his desk, flipping it to the labels again. "How many more of these can I take without seeing God?"

"Tony-"

_"Boss?"_

"Okay, a lot of voices right not. Not really helping. Just-"

Pepper grabbed onto his arm, a grounding grip that slowly began to drag his wild thoughts back into the center of his mind. He stared down at her, at the calm collectiveness of her gaze. "Relax. Take a breath. Don't start freaking out."

He did breathe, took a few breaths actually, swallowing thickly as he steadied his hand. He scrolled his eyes along the labels, willing his heart rate to steady. "I'm not freaking out. I- _how long until another dose?!_ " He scoffed and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. "Screw this garbage. I'm better off just chewing on a mint leaf or something!"

_"Boss!"_

He glared up at the ceiling. " _What,_ FRIDAY?"

_"Richard Parker has entered the building."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of suicide, graphic descriptions of violence and child abuse, graphic descriptions of detoxing, and brief descriptions of haphephobia.


	25. The Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not afraid of you, you son of a bitch." He growled it softly, but the words were spit so forcefully, they could have cracked the walls.
> 
> And he wasn't. Not anymore. Now he felt nothing but resolve, an unwavering determination that could not be shaken, not by his ex-teammates, not by the politicians on Capital Hill, and not by the man he now vowed to take down.
> 
> Tony wasn't afraid, couldn't be afraid. He wouldn't allow himself to be.
> 
> Richard stared down at him and narrowed his eyes, seemed to understand the unspoken declaration now being passed between the two of them. It was clear now. This was war, and it wouldn't end until someone declared surrender.
> 
> "Maybe not...but you're not really the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?"
> 
> A war with an unthinkable consequence...and an unknowable end.
> 
> A war Tony was not going to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of child abuse and vivid descriptions and symptoms of haphephobia
> 
> Read at your own risk.

**Monday - May 2, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Main Offices**

**12:29 PM**

Everybody froze as FRIDAY's message rang through the otherwise silent room. Tony blinked, slowly scrunching his eyes as he angled his head towards the ceiling, wondering if maybe his headache was finally beginning to mess with his hearing.

"What?"

_"Richard Parker has entered the building. Peter is with him."_

More silence. Tony let out a sharp breath, the AI's words rattling around in his head like quarters in a coin jar, plinking back and forth as he tried to make sense of them. His gaze drifted over towards the others, who were all sharing equally as incredulous looks.

Rhodey cocked a brow. "You serious, FRIDAY?"

_"Yes, Colonel. Peter scanned his ID into the system 46 seconds ago and they are now awaiting permission to ascend to your current location."_

Tony took another breath, shakier this time. The ringing in his ears was back, grating on his senses as it tried to pierce through his skull, throbbing up against the sides of his temples and echoing down his eardrums. He gritted his teeth and pressed his fingers into his eyes as Pepper and Rhodey spoke.

"What the heck is he doing here? And isn't Peter supposed to be in school?"

"I guess he pulled him out. You saw those news vans, Rhodey. There were close to a _dozen_ of them parked outside that place. He probably just took him out early.

"Well, that still doesn't explain why he's _here_."

Tony removed his hand from the bridge of his nose, clicking his tongue as he glanced over towards the door. "Then let's ask him. FRIDAY?"

_"Boss?"_

"Send them up."

Pepper and Rhodey both turned to look at him as he leaned up against the desk, cupping his hands around his face as he tried to pry apart the tangle of fog that had been clouding his mind for the past couple of days. It seemed to swirl around his head in a hazy expanse of smoke, clarity just out of reach. The billionaire brushed past the others, only to stop as the sudden movement made a wash of dizziness fall over him, He leaning up against the doorframe for a second to try and get the room to stop spinning.

The others exchanged glances with each other before Pepper was taking a small step forward, face crunching in concern as she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Tony. Are you sure you're up for this?"

He cleared his throat. "Nope. Let's go greet them." And with that, he pushed off of the doorframe and walked out of the room before either he or his friends could think better of it.

After a brief second of shocked silence, he could hear the footsteps of his friends following close behind, maybe just to make sure he didn't keel over on his way there.

Tony could feel his skull thumping in tune with his heartbeat, loud and fast. His stomach began to churn again, reminiscent of the past two days but he choked it down, tightening his fingers into fists as he briskly made his way towards the elevators before he lost the wavering resolve he could feel building in his chest.

Of all the worst possible times for this to be happening, this was pretty high up there, especially considering he was having a moderately difficult time seeing things straight.

Not only that, but he hadn't had a face-to-face confrontation with Richard Parker since he'd first recruited Peter, since he'd first offered to give him the internship in the first place and that was, what? Two months ago? Long before Tony had discovered what a monster the man really was.

Tony had always planned on confronting the man, both to call him out on his treatment of the kid and to convince him to let Peter stay at the Tower for the summer.

Of course, he'd always imagined said conversations happening when he was a bit more...in his right mind, so to speak, for something told him he'd need all his wits about him when he finally confronted Richard Parker. Well safe to say, he was _not_ prepared for such a talk at the moment. Said conversation would need careful planning on his end to make sure he didn't somehow make things worse for Peter. He'd need to be careful.

Which was exactly what he _couldn't_ be at that moment. His mind was too foggy and too jumbled to think quickly, to devise and plan a strategy against the con man.

So, despite how it made his skin tingle with displeasure, Tony knew he'd most likely have to play nice with the man at least for now. He would just have to feign ignorance and pretend that Richard Parker was nothing more than his intern's kind-hearted and caring father, no matter how nauseous the thought made him. Well... _extra_ nauseous.

He'd have to leave the _real_ confrontation for another time, preferably when he wasn't in danger of overdosing on migraine medication. Besides, Peter would be there too. And the last thing Tony wanted to do was put the kid in a tough spot by going off on his father.

So with that, he swallowed down his doubts to join the bile in his stomach before he could truly comprehend what he was walking into.

They had nearly made it to the elevators when the doors were sliding open and out stepped Richard Parker, complete with a suit that could probably rival Tony's in terms of expensiveness. His hair was slicked back and combed neatly out of the way and on his white-dotted face was a million-dollar smile. "Mr. Stark! A pleasure to see you again." He held his hand out.

Tony didn't even spare the man a glance, absentmindedly shaking his hand as he searched _around_ him, searched for a particular sight. "Mr. Parker. I'm...surprised to be receiving a visit from you." He spotted Peter standing behind the man, hidden so well, in fact, that he'd almost missed him. The teen's head was down and his hood was up, arms tightly folded over his chest. His face was covered in shadow.

A familiar seed of worry was already beginning to grow.

Richard paid it no mind, however as he diverted his attention to the two standing behind Tony. "Ms. Potts. Colonel Rhodes. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you." The man stepped forward to shake their hands. Tony could practically _feel_ their reluctance to actually touch him, but they did so anyway, Pepper smiling a tight smile. "We have met before. The Scholarship America Gala last year?"

"Right, right. Apologies, I tend to meet a lot of people at those events."

"I'm sure." Pepper's voice was pinched with artificial sweetness.

Tony paid it no mind. He wasn't focused on _any_ of them, actually. Instead, his eyes stayed on Peter, who had yet to move from his spot behind Richard, not even to greet him. Tony took a small step forward, eyes narrowed. "Peter? You okay, kid?"

The teen didn't look up, didn't say anything. Instead, he angled his head away and tightened his grip on his arms.

More doubt, more worry. It pooled heavily in his stomach.

Richard waved a hand dismissively. "He's fine. There was a bit of an incident at school, but the principal assured me it was being handled." At that, Tony couldn't help but look away, sharp eyes meeting Richard's calculating stare. The man's face still held an aura of calm, a casual smile gracing his lips. But as Tony flicked his eyes around the man's features, he noticed the slight outline of his tensed jaw, the brief flash of something darker in his eyes.

With a sudden onslaught of blinding suspicion and fear, Tony shot his eyes towards the man's hands and caught sight of his knuckles - bright, raw, and angry.

The fog lifted from his head, so sharp and sudden as a chilling fear shot down his body like ice water breaking him out of a trance.

He turned back to Peter without another second of hesitation, practically shoving past Richard as he latched his hands around the kid's shoulders and knelt down. "Pete? Kid, what's wrong? What's the matter?"

Peter still didn't say anything, didn't lift his head. Tony tried to search his face, but the hoodie cast too much shadow for him to really see anything. The man lifted his shaking hand and gingerly grabbed onto the lip of the hood, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it off.

Pepper gasped behind him, Rhodey letting out a full-blown curse. And Tony...Tony just stared, a punch of air violently leaving his lips as he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Peter's face was _covered_ in bruises, bright red angry patches of skin that were just now beginning to darken into a deep purple, even turning black in some areas. Underneath his left eye, his right cheek, against his jawline, the corner of his lip. They were huge ugly patches of discolored skin that painfully stood out against the normal pristine pale white of his complexion. Deep cuts stood out in the darkened patches, tears in the skin from where the blows had been forceful enough to rip and produce blood. The bright crimson lines smeared against his forehead and around a cut on his lip. Some of them were so fresh that blood was still dripping, including down his _horribly_ crooked nose.

Tony felt his grip tightening around the teen's shoulders as he stared with wide eyes and a slacked jaw, which slowly began to tense up as his eyes darkened. Peter wasn't looking at him. His eyes were downcast, head tilted away, as if he couldn't bear to look the man in the face. The angle of his head exposed a small portion of the teen's neck, Tony's eyes catching some more discoloration. Without waiting a second, he gripped the teen's collar and harshly pulled it down, exposing the darkening flesh of the boy's neck, a thick band of discoloration that went around his entire throat.

"...you son of a bitch..."

And suddenly the chill in his spine turned into white-hot fury.

Tony launched up to his feet, whirling around towards Richard, who had the audacity to look bored with the display. His fists curled as he lurched forward. "You _son of a bitch!_ " he snarled, body moving across the floor before he could think better of it.

He only made it a few steps before Rhodey was suddenly in front of him, wrapping his arms around him as he held him back. "Tony! Man, don't!"

Pepper was rushing to Peter but Tony couldn't take his eyes off the smirking man in front of him, suddenly overcome with the need to rip that look right off his face, blast it off it he had to. How dare he? _How fucking_ _dare he?_

Rhodey's grip was firm though and he couldn't seem to cross the few feet he needed to properly kill the bastard. Richard stared at him with an almost _amused_ look as Tony continued to thrash in his friend's hold, desperate to release the rage bubbling inside of him, the fiery haze of red now glossing over his vision.

"Perhaps we should talk in private, Mr. Stark? I'd hate for my son to be subjected to your little temper tantrum," he said casually, straightening out his cuffs as he did so. Tony stopped fighting for just a second to let the words process in his steaming head, blinking back into reality as he spared a heated glare behind him.

Pepper was kneeling down next to Peter, who wasn't even acknowledging her. Instead, the teen's head was finally raised, eyes wide as he flickered his gaze back and forth between Richard and Tony with a look of straight, undiluted _fear._

The glare softened, the fight in his muscles slowly seeped out and the adrenaline pumping through his veins began to pool into his stomach in a thick glob of hate. Peter was here. Peter was watching.

Peter didn't need to see this.

Tony shoved Rhodey's arms off, the Colonel hovering nonetheless just in case the billionaire decided to try another rush. He turned to Pepper and Rhodey, teeth grinding as his eyes burned. "Watch him," he growled, angling his head towards Peter, who simply glanced away, rubbing at his arms as he looked very much like he'd rather be anywhere else. Tony didn't have the time to feel guilty as he whirled around towards Richard, who had now stuffed his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

"Come with me." It took everything in him to keep from spitting the words right into the man's face. He stormed down the hall without another word, the only confirmation that Richard was following being the light sounds of his footsteps behind him.

Knowing his anger wouldn't be containable for much longer, Tony didn't venture far, turning into one of the first available conference rooms in the next hall. He shoved the door open and stalked into the room, fists shaking at his sides as he felt the washes of anger boiling back up. His head was pounding, but he couldn't bring himself to care in that moment as he pressed his palms into the table surface and stared down at his fingers, eyes seeming to smoke in his head as Richard calmly entered the room.

Said man didn't spare Tony much of a glance, not that the billionaire cared. He was too preoccupied with repeating over and over in his head that he couldn't attack the man then and there, fighting to add some sort of restraint to the itch in his fingers that demanded blood.

_("Did you know?")_

_. . ._

_. . ._

He couldn't lose it.

Not again.

Tony heard the soft sound of clinking glass and glanced over, narrowing his eyes as he watched Richard calmly open the bottle of scotch they always kept in the conference rooms, bottles they must have missed in their clean-sweep of the Tower.

Tony actually felt his stomach roll as he watched the amber liquid be poured into one of the glasses, turning away with a scrunch of the nose and a disgusted curl of the lips as he pushed down the surprising cloud of nausea that arose at the sight. Richard swirled the scotch in the glass before smirking over at Tony.

"Want me to pour you one? You seem a bit tense."

Tony couldn't help but scoff as he straightened up, watching Richard casually take a sip from the glass. He swallowed, tightened his grip on the fury in his chest and spoke. "You got a lot of fucking nerve showing your face around here when _his_ looks like that."

Richard shrugged, didn't seem to mind the venom lacing Tony's words. "As I said before, there have been some issues at school. Apparently Peter's having some trouble with a few kids, some of which aren't opposed to putting their hands on him."

Tony stared at him, opened his mouth before turning away with a humorless huff of laughter, shaking his head with a tight smile. Richard's voice was so light, like they were simply making small talk at a financial gala. It was almost understandable why nobody ever suspected anything. _Almost._ "Heh... _bullies._ Is that what you're making him say? Do people actually buy that?"

"Buy what? It's the tru-"

" _Drop the act_ , _you bastard_." Tony snarled, composure slipping ever so slightly as he rounded a harsh glare at the man, taking a few threatening steps forward as he leaned closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "I know about you."

Richard didn't lose the calm and collected look smeared onto his face, but Tony did catch the way his fingers tapped against the glass and the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He smiled and tilted his head, taking another sip without pulling his eyes away from Tony's face. "Know what, exactly?"

Tony took another breath, a deep inhale that swirled the air through his chest. His head was still pounding, a constant pain that lingered behind his eyes and made his teeth ache. But the foggy haze that had been with him all day was gone, leaving nothing but a burning clarity in its wake. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, skin bubbling with a teeming hatred he could barely put into words.

But he could try.

"I know about you. I know you're scum and you've somehow convinced everyone in the city that you aren't, that you're the complete opposite. I know what you do to him. I know you're the lowest dirtbag I've ever had the displeasure of knowing and the worst part is that nobody else seems to see it." Another breath, another step closer. Richard tapped his fingers again. Tony shook his head, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "You like to pretend that you're this big, benevolent, kind-hearted soul whose greatest pleasure is bringing joy to the world, but I know..."

His hands itched to move, itched to make a grab for the man before him but he kept them down, kept them clenched at his sides. "I know you're nothing but a lowlife abuser who gets his sick kicks by taking his frustrations out on his own son."

Richard watched him, an almost passive expression on his face as he began to run a finger around the rim of his glass. He didn't take his eyes off of Tony. They just kept staring at each other, a thick cloud of tension hovering between them, thick enough to taste in the air. Richard squinted his eyes ever so slightly and smiled. "Is that all?"

The words seemed to be a joke, but his tone of voice almost sounded...serious, like it was a legitimate question. Tony broke their staring with a sudden blink as he wondered what the man could be referring to, if anything at all. But before he could dwell, Richard was taking another sip of the scotch, the smell making Tony take a few steps back as he whirled around on his heel and gripped the back of one of the chairs.

He heard the swirling of the liquid against the glass. "Sounds like Peter's been telling you some tall tales, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, don't you _dare_ accuse him of lying!" He whipped back around, tempted to smack the drink out of the man's hands. "Not when you drag him in here looking like _that,_ you sack of horse shit!"

_Why is he still denying it?_

He didn't understand. The man had to know that Tony was onto him, it wasn't like he was hiding his suspicions, after all. So why go on pretending that everything was fine, that he was another smiling face on the sidewalk that he had to appease and convince? Another camera to smile at? What was there to gain in it? What was the benefit to keeping up his façade?

The billionaire held onto his question for another two seconds before he received his answer.

Richard spared a glance up at the ceiling.

Cameras.

FRIDAY.

Tony shut his eyes, felt his teeth suddenly grinding together as his nails began to pinch into his palm.

Richard was still on the air, still cued in playing the part for anybody who could potentially watch back the footage. Even here, with video evidence Tony _could_ use in a court of law, he still had nothing. And if his previous encounters with the man were anything to go off of, Tony was absolutely certain he wasn't about to get anything useful today, at least not straight from Richard's mouth. No confessions, no self-incrimination.

He was too smart for that.

"Peter has always had a very active imagination, Mr. Stark." Richard took his eyes away from the ceiling and kept smiling, but the look didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just...surprised he shared his creativity with you." Instead, his eyes were smoldering, both of them - one a deep, darkened brown, the other a paler ash-gray. Tony felt his skin begin to prickle with a sudden wave of dread. Richard continued.

"Usually that's something he keeps to himself."

Tony sucked in another breath, found himself fighting against the urge to shift underneath the man's scrutinizing stare. He tapped his fingers against the back of the chair and turned his head away, realizing he'd have to choose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was for his own carelessness to get the kid in trouble.

"Peter didn't tell me anything." Technically true, at least as far as Richard needed to know. "I pieced it together myself."

The father chuckled, the noise sending an involuntary chill through Tony's spine. "I'm sure you'll understand how I find that hard to believe, seeing as how nobody else ever learns about Peter's...creative imagination."

Tony actually growled at the man's playful dodging. Richard didn't seem to mind.

"So I wonder how you managed to do what nobody else has without him telling you...something. See, Peter has always had a bit of a problem keeping his mouth shut about things nobody really has an interest in." The man's eyes narrowed and his smile somehow grew colder. He chuckled, the sound harsh and cruel. "He's not the best at reading the room, if you know what I mean."

Parker took a small step forward and Tony, against his will, found himself taking one back. He furrowed his brow and straightened back up, leveling the man a hard look. "He didn't tell me _anything,"_ he growled, hoping the man would somehow believe him and leave the kid out of it. "I guess I just have my fair share of dealing with shit dads."

"Projecting now, are we, Mr. Stark?"

Tony gave an annoyed roll of his eyes, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of making him any angrier than he already was. So instead, Tony turned away with a shake of his head, pointing his stare towards the windows. "What the hell do you want? Why are you here?" As if he didn't already know.

Richard glanced over at the conference chairs and walked over, pulling out the nearest one. "I'm sure you're aware by now of the recent developments happening in the news." He sat down in the seat and crossed his legs, balancing his drink atop one knee. "They've discovered his school."

Tony scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, didn't bother in looking over. "Yeah, and judging by the kid's face, you weren't too happy with the news." He resisted the urge to glance towards the door.

He wanted to be out there. He wanted to see Peter, check the kid over with more than just a frenzied glance. But the worming seed of fury was still there, sitting tightly in his chest, demanding to be let out, demanding some sort of release. With his emotions already running high and the sheer exhaustion of his detoxing lowering his restraints to near negative levels, he preferred to risk having it blow up in Richard's face rather than Peter's.

Besides, if it meant keeping the bastard away from the kid for just a few more minutes, then Tony would stay in that conference room for as long as he possibly could.

Richard pursed his lips at Tony's comment before letting out a small sigh and glancing down at his drink. "Look, I was fine dealing with those reporters when they were just crowding around my house. It's fine. Nothing I've never dealt with before. But now they're taking it even further, so much so that it's quickly starting to become a nuisance," he muttered with an annoyed scoff.

Tony couldn't help the small sense of satisfaction he got hearing the man's slight irritation. He still didn't turn to look at him, just kept his furrowed gaze to the window and his back to the man. "News flash, Parker. I don't give a shit about whatever's inconveniencing your life."

"...Well what about Peter's life?"

The sudden flash of anger he felt just hearing the man say the kid's name was shocking.

He finally turned, showing his disgruntled glare which Richard received with a humored smile, obviously content that he'd finally gotten a reaction out of the man. "I noticed you two have a bit of a strange relationship." He swirled the scotch once more and took another sip. "It is cause for some mild concern on my part."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Why? Cause I don't fawn over you like everyone else you've conned?"

He tightened his grip on his arms before shoving his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure as to what to do with them. Richard was still staring at him, his sheer gaze like a stickiness coating his skin, tight and uncomfortable and ever-present. He suddenly understood why Peter was such a fidgety kid. It was hard to keep still under the intensity of the look. Like squirming under a heat lamp, the room suddenly felt suffocatingly humid. Still, Tony - more than used to dealing with uncomfortable, high-tension situations - simply met the man's gaze with one of his own and kept his voice level. "What are you suggesting we do about it then?"

Richard shrugged. "Simple. They have their questions? We answer them." He leaned back in his chair. "A press conference. A controlled environment we can manage and maintain on our own terms, filter their questions, only take in reputable news outlets." He tapped his fingers against the glass, a soft _plinking_ ringing from the movement. "They'll get the info they want so badly and in exchange, the media fiasco that would otherwise stretch out for another four weeks shrinks down to one."

Tony furrowed his brow, maintained eye contact with Richard for a moment longer before folding his arms back over his chest and turning his gaze to the floor. He didn't say anything, didn't contradict or outright refuse the idea because, well...he couldn't.

He'd been talking with Pepper and Rhodey for a few days now, floating the idea out a couple times in the process. Press conferences were nothing new, barely even news to him. He'd conducted so many, both drunk and sober alike, that it was hard to count. It was only logical to conduct one now, especially if it meant making things easier on Peter.

Tony took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and tried to will his headache away. It wasn't working. If anything, it got louder, stronger.

Richard must have taken Tony's silence for uncertainty, for he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "It makes sense. Benefits all of us, including Peter. I'm sure the last thing _you_ want is for him to be afraid to go to school with the threat of all those reporters harassing him. An environment like that is prone to cause some developmental issues later on in life." Richard smirked and continued to tap the side of the glass with his nail. "I'm sure you can attest to that, huh?"

Tony didn't respond to the jab, didn't even look up from his staring match with the carpet flooring. He started to tap his own fingers, drummed them up against his folded arms as he listened to the sound of his breathing mingling with the soft ringing he could still hear in his ears. It had faded considerably, maybe just because he couldn't afford to focus on it. But now that it was near silent, he could hear it again, echoing around his eardrum. He could hear everything else too.

Every denial Peter had ever made, every distracting comment the kid would use to change the subject, every plea to ignore and forget, just look the other way and continue on as if everything was okay.

But it wasn't okay. None of this was okay.

_("If you won't let the police protect you, then I will!")_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_. . ._

But he could change that.

"I want the kid."

He _would_ change that.

_("Let me help you.")_

_For Peter._

Richard almost startled in his seat at the sudden declaration, blinking at Tony with a shocked expression. "Excuse me?"

Tony didn't falter. "You want your press conference? Fine. Whatever. But in exchange, I want the kid for the summer. Here, 24/7. He'll stay here, sleep here. He'll have no contact with you for the entire two months. More or less, _this_ will be his home for that time."

Richard stared at him, kept blinking in a supposed attempt to understand what Tony was saying. And Tony knew _exactly_ the moment when the words _did_ click in Richard's head, for the man grew a huge grin as he suddenly let out a loud laugh. The noise was strange. It was sharp and unsettling, grating on the senses. Tony didn't flinch, didn't waver in his demeanor or posture as he watched the other shaking in his chair from the force of his laughter. It took a second for him to compose himself enough to speak, letting out a content sigh as he gave Tony an incredulous look

"Oh, Stark. Are you...Are you serious right now?"

"Serious as a CPS call."

That sobered Richard up just a tad, the smile not leaving from his face, but it did relax slightly as he took a few deep breaths. He didn't peel his eyes away from Tony. He just huffed another softer chuckle and licked at his lips, leaning back in the chair. "You're not going to do that." His voice wasn't threatening, but it was definitely _sure._

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Oh? And why not?"

"Because if you were you'd have done it already," Richard scoffed, waving a hand in the air with a roll of his eyes and an amused snort. "You have nothing here, Stark. The conference is more of a courtesy than anything else. I don't have to do it nor is my need for it very great. I can deal with a few more weeks of this nonsense and Peter will just have to learn to live with it. Such is the price to pay for our lifestyle, wouldn't you say?" The man reached back over for his drink and downed the rest of it in one sip.

He set it down on the table and rose up to his feet, straightening out his suit. "I don't have to agree to anything." With that, he brushed his hands against his sleeves and began to turn for the door.

"You're right. You don't. You one hundred percent have the right to say no. Just like _I_ have the right to set up my own press conference...alone."

Richard paused.

"I also have the right to announce at that press conference _everything_ I've witnessed over the past two months, mainly surrounding the behavior of my newest intern that causes me great concern."

The man held his rigid posture before turning back around, face neutral. Tony smirked, but he didn't feel very happy. "I have the right to share these concerns with the public, share my fears that said intern's family may not be as pristine and perfect as you like to pretend." He began to stalk forward, slowly prowling along the conference floor as the distance between them shortened. He leaned closer, eyes burning. "I have the right to go up there and call you out on everything I've seen so far, to expose you as the piece of shit you really are."

Richard was silent for a moment before he turned away, shaking his head as he cracked another loose grin. He slid his hands into his pockets and leaned back with a confidence you couldn't fake. "Oh, Stark...this...this is good. I have to admit, this...this is really good. With the kind of day I've been having, I needed a laugh like that."

The relaxed look on his face took on a more sinister note before he turned back around towards the door, resting his palm against the doorknob. "Nobody would believe you."

The door cracked open.

. . .

"Is that what you told Peter?"

Again, Richard paused. This time he didn't turn around, just kept facing the door, kept his hand wrapped around the handle. Tony didn't back down, not from the chilling silence and not from the words.

"Is that how you got him to shut up for all these years? Kept him isolated and alone? Did you tell him that there was no point in asking for help, so much so that he doesn't even try anymore?"

_("I didn't think you'd care.")_

"Is that what you did to him? Is that the sort of shit you've been forcing down his throat for all these years?" He could feel himself getting heated again, could feel it working up underneath his skin. He swallowed down whatever runaway emotions threatened to show. He had to get this right, time this all perfectly, get each and every word placed exactly where it needed to go.

He had to convince him. He had to get Peter.

So with that, Tony cleared his throat and grabbed the back of one of the chairs, mainly to steady himself as he felt the tremors from earlier beginning to make a repeat appearance. "You're right, Richard. Most likely, people will think it's a political move, build my own company up by tearing down my competition. They'd be much quicker to believe the hard-working, charitable dad rather than the disgraced, alcoholic Avenger." He gestured to himself as he bent into the seat, grabbing for the remote on the table. He pointed it towards the TV in the top corner of the room, turning the screen onto the muted news channel, which was still tuned into Peter's school. Richard glanced up at it with an impassive glance.

"But of the millions of people who would inevitably see my broadcast...are you one hundred percent sure that not _one,_ not a _single person_ watching that interview will start to wonder? That there won't be at least a handful of people who are skeptical, who start to questions why I'm saying those particular things?"

Richard didn't turn to look at him, but he didn't make for the door either. He just kept his back to him, slowly bringing his arms to fold behind him. Tony couldn't see his face. He continued anyway.

"All I need is one, two, a small group of people who start to look just a little deeper, who spare it more than just a single glance." He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "Sure, most people probably won't believe it, but I don't need them to. All I need to do is place the thought in their minds, a niggling seed in the back of their heads that will slowly grow over time, that will make the kids and teachers at his school whisper, will make the people on the streets look a little closer, if only to calm their nerves and prove to themselves that I'm wrong, that there's nothing to worry about."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tensing slightly. "Only...they _won't_ find nothing. They'll finally _see_ the kid for the first time, see how skinny he is, how pale his skin is, how small he is for a fourteen-year-old boy. They'll see the scars they'd never noticed before, the bruises they'd ignored, the flinches they'd chalked up to their own imaginations. Once people _know_ what to look for...well, let's just say they get much more observant."

Richard was silent, still hadn't turned around. Tony found himself feeling relieved at the fact. It was much easer to talk with his usual snapping tongue without the man's burning stare hissing against his skin.

"Maybe they'll start doing some digging. You know how reporters just _love_ to scrounge up dirt. Or...maybe you _don't_ know. They've never felt the need to do it with _you_ and why would they? You're the Father of New York, the kind-hearted billionaire spending his money on disabled orphans and blind, three-legged puppies." He spat it out with a disgusted grunt, rolling his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders in mock disinterest.

"Well, maybe they _do_ start to dig. Maybe they find out about the ex-cons _living_ at your house. Weird, but not incriminating. So they dig deeper, if only to prove your innocence, of course. Except, _uh-oh_. Now they've noticed something interesting with CPS. _Six_ house visits in the past _eight_ years? Not great numbers, especially since you've done some work to sweep those events under the rug." He leaned in closer, voice suddenly getting low, the words rubbing painfully against his throat as they rumbled out.

"Maybe they start to think I might not be so crazy after all. Maybe they start getting suspicious. Maybe they start asking _Peter_ questions. Maybe he struggles just a bit more to answer them. Maybe...he slips."

Still nothing. No reaction. Now Tony _did_ wish he could at least see the man's face, gauge how well he was doing here, how convinced he was. He tapped his fingers against the surface of the table before deciding to just double down and pray it would be enough.

"Like I said, maybe the conference I have _every right_ to conduct gets swept away, disregarded as nothing but slander from the drunken billionaire losing his mind over the Accords. But then again...maybe not." He hoped Richard couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating, thumping up against his chest almost as strongly as his head, which pounded against his skull in thick waves of teeth-chattering pulses. "All in all, seems like a lot of unnecessary work for you to deal with. And you don't seem like the type of man who deals with the unnecessary."

He swallowed, licking his lips as he fought to quell the unease blooming in his gut.

It was a pretty big bluff.

Richard might not know about his deal with Peter, but Tony did. And he knew that going on live television and making some big declaration about how Richard Parker was an abusive father would probably go in direct violation of said agreement.

Safe to say, Tony was positive it wouldn't go over well.

Peter would hate him. There was no doubt about that. The kid would hate him and he would leave and never come back and most _definitely_ never trust Tony, completely destroying any and all hope of getting him help. Tony knew he could never go through with what he'd just declared. Not without Peter's complete support.

But Richard didn't know that. At least, he had to pray he didn't.

Said man still hadn't turned around, just kept staring at the door with his hands folded behind him, shoulders squared and back straight. Tony resisted the urge to begin bouncing his leg and sat in the silence for a moment. Finally, he heard the sound of soft chuckling, Richard's head tilting down just a tad.

"You've given this quite some thought, huh?"

Tony pursed his lips at the sheer flippantness the man continued to display. "You've given me plenty to think about." He turned away from Richard at that, swiveling his chair to face the other wall, face the window behind him displaying the lights and the buildings below. Tony took a deep breath, shut his eyes as he leaned his head against the back of the chair.

He could feel just how exhausted he was, felt it pulling down on him like a weight in his gut. His energy levels, which had already been at poor status to begin with, were rapidly pooling down into the floor. He couldn't even keep his hands steady anymore, just left them to shiver in his lap from sheer exhaustion, his stamina reserves quickly dropping. Every other second, he felt a nagging pull urging him to head upstairs and sleep the rest of the day away. Of course, every time he did, he was reminded of the kid just down the hall and it instantly disappeared from his thoughts, replaced with a cold claw of dread and an ever-burning anger that had yet to subside.

He glanced down at his shaking hands, slowly began to brush his fingers over the scars on his palm.

"How can you do this to him?"

It was out of his mouth before he could think better of it, before he could tighten the cap on his emotions and come to terms with the fact that he didn't have the energy to keep this up for much longer.

Richard obviously was just as surprised as he was at the sudden outburst, for he finally turned away from the door and threw the billionaire a perplexed look. Somehow, it made Tony even angrier. As if the man didn't already know what he was talking about.

"Peter is..." He paused, trying to figure out what to say as he sucked in another lighter breath. He gritted his teeth, grounded himself by continuing to brush up against the scars dotting his hand, the scars that reminded him of why he was doing this. He shook his head and glared down at the ground.

"...he's smart and he's gentle and he's kind, kinder than he has any right to be, but he is and I can barely understand it at times cause who comes out of something as horrible as all this still acting so pure?" His tongue felt fuzzy. The words were thick in his throat.

"He's a good kid..."

Richard was quiet for a moment before he glanced down at his shoes. "I know that."

Tony narrowed his eyes and spun the chair around to face the man, who was now moving away from the door and approaching the table. "Do you? Cause I saw what you did to him out there, the things you _continue_ to do to him behind closed doors. You do all of that and yet you still have the audacity to say you think he's a good kid? You're saying a good kid deserves all of that?" The grip of composure was slipping, he could feel it fading, leaving nothing to stop the bubbling, white-hot fury teeming just underneath his muscles, flaring out overtop his skin.

Richard lifted his head and Tony could see a true flash of anger spark in his eyes for just a second before the father shook his head and tensed his fists. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered after a moment of tense silence.

Tony scoffed. "I wouldn't?"

"No. You _wouldn't_." He snapped back, glare finally materializing full force onto his face. The man turned to fully face Tony now. "You have no _idea_ the sacrifices you make for your child, the tough decisions you have to face, the turmoil you have to fight with every day." Richard glowered at him, face curling into a derisive sneer. "You don't understand. You _can't_ understand. Because you aren't a father."

Tony furrowed his brows, felt something strange in his chest. "You're right. I'm not. But I'm not a pilot either. But, if I saw a plane hanging out of a tree, I could still objectively say that something wasn't right there." He pressed his palms into the table and stood up from his seat, posture rigid and muscles coiled in a tense, humming wave of hatred, nerves and exhaustion. "I may not be a dad, but I can sure as hell see that what you're doing is wrong. What you're teaching him is wrong. What you're forcing onto him is wrong. You're hurting him. Plain and simple. There's no excuses, no justifications. It's abuse. Clear as day. And it's _illegal._ "

Richard stared at him, eyes hard and cold. His jaw tensed. Tony could actually _hear_ the sound of the man's knuckles cracking as he rolled his fingers into fists. "I have the right to discipline my child. Every parent does."

Still not a confession. Still not an admission. Tony growled under his breath at the logic the man was using. _Was he serious?_

"Is that what you call it? Is that what you say to Peter when you're smashing his face into the floor? That it's discipline? That you have the _right_ to do it?" His chest was tightening, but he forced the words through anyway. "No. No parent has the right to _hurt_ their child."

Richard scoffed, turning away slightly. "And _you_ have no right to lecture me, Stark."

" _I don't have the right?!_ " Now he was shouting. He couldn't help it. "You drag that kid into my tower looking like _that_ and you say I don't have the _right?!_ You waltz in like everything's perfectly alright? It's just..."

Richard rolled his eyes and turned away. Tony, in turn, locked his jaw, forced the words off with a sharp breath and stared in disbelief at the sheer disdain the man was showing. He gave a humorless huff as he shook his head. "You really just don't care, do you? You don't care about him at all."

" _Hey."_ Richard sharply turned back around, pointed a finger at Tony. "Don't you accuse me of not caring about my son."

Tony didn't back down, just curled his lip. "Show me proof of the contrary, then. Otherwise I'll stick to it."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Stark."

"And _you_ just don't know when to quit, do you? I already told you I know about your stupid act so you can drop it."

"It's not an _act."_

 _"_ Of course it is! You clearly don't care for Peter!"

Richard narrowed his eyes, which smoldered so darkly in his skull they seemed to shroud the entire room in an extra level of uncomfortable heat. His voice was low and dangerous as he leaned closer to Tony.

"I love my son."

Tony threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, quit your fucking bullshit, you piece of-

 _" **I LOVE MY SON!"**_ Richard slammed his hands down on the table as he roared, a loud _bang_ echoing across the room so loudly and so suddenly that Tony actually found himself backing up. But no amount of distance seemed to be enough as Richard continued to loom over him, pressing his hands into the surface of the table as he stared with a burning fury.

Suddenly, Tony was all too aware of just how tall Richard was, just how much he towered over him. For a fraction of a second, he almost felt a twinge of fear and considered backing off just a tad, his muscles heavy and his head foggy.

His fingers brushed against the scars on his palm.

Tony gritted his teeth and straightened his back, glaring right back at the man before him. He wasn't about to let this bastard push him around the same way he did his own kid. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Richard continued to burn his piercing stare into Tony's eyes for another good long second of heated silence before he blinked and the look was gone, replaced instead with a chilling smile that slowly spread onto his lips like blood seeping through cloth, spreading further and further in a deep expanse of unease.

"Tell me again what you think of him." His voice was soft again, almost sweet. "What was it you said? That he's a good kid? Well how do you think he got that way?" He slowly straightened his back. "Peter is the most polite, respectful and obedient child you've ever met, isn't he?"

Tony didn't like where this was going. He didn't respond, at least not verbally. His glare remained fixed.

Richard took his silence in stride, however. "Admit it, Stark. He's all of it and more. He doesn't speak out of turn. He doesn't raise his voice or step out of line. He doesn't demand anything or act entitled in any way. He never shares his opinion when it's unwanted. He's quiet and he's attentive and he's-"

"Afraid."

Richard looked over at him. Tony stared back, his glare slowly mingling with a sudden sadness. "He's afraid, Richard."

Did the man understand that? Did he understand that what he was doing was _wrong?_ Tony almost hoped he didn't, for at least then he could hold onto the hope that somehow, he could convince Richard of how heinous his actions were, expose him to the sheer vulgarity of it all and finally shake some sense into him. Maybe there was a chance that he could turn this around, reveal to him that he _had_ to change his ways for the greater good.

But those hopes were quickly dashed as Richard's smile only grew, a _knowing_ smile that held nothing but contempt and self-assurance.

Tony's stomach rolled over. This time it was much harder to swallow the bile down.

Richard knew what he was doing. And he was happy about it.

He stared back at the man with a horrified look he couldn't keep off his face, eyes scrunching as he shook his head. "What...what is the matter with you? You...you actually _want_ that?"

Richard clearly wasn't fazed by the horror in Tony's voice, for he simply shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head. "Children should respect their parents, should listen to their fathers and obey their wishes."

He was dodging. He wasn't answering the _fucking questions._ He was toying like it was all a big goddamn game.

"He's a child, not a fucking robot, you maniac!"

"Youth does not grant one a free pass for disrespect and disobedience," Richard chirped back with a snide look. "And I taught Peter that as soon as I could." Tony could hear his breathing picking up, felt the clicking of his teeth rubbing together so tightly, the pressure made his temples clench in pain. Richard lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, letting out a small sigh as he glanced down at the ground.

"I care very much for my son, Stark, despite what you might think. I care enough to discipline him when he steps out of line. I care enough to teach him about the important things, molding him into a civil and humble citizen." The man smiled, not a sinister or dominating smile like before, but a real... _genuine_ smile, full of pride and satisfaction. "Peter is a model of perfect behavior and I would expect nothing less than perfection from any child of mine."

Tony couldn't believe his ears...no. He couldn't believe his _eyes._ Richard was...happy. He was _proud_ of everything he was saying. The man truly believed his actions were something to be celebrated, that his son's behavior was somehow... _good?_

Suddenly, he was back in the bathroom, holding in the nausea that threatened to overtake him.

"Perfection..." he whispered in a breathless puff of air. The word sounded off in his ears, warped and distorted. He shut his eyes, felt his nails digging into his palms as his fists shook at his sides. He spoke, his words tight and painful. "Is it _perfection_ that he can barely hold a conversation with a stranger because you taught him to keep his mouth shut?"

Richard glanced over at him. Tony snapped his eyes back open and stared at the man with more hatred than he'd ever felt for anybody before. Not for Stane. Not for Ross. Not even for Steve.

This...this was all for Richard.

"Is it _perfection_ that it took him two weeks to finally get used to looking me in the eye cause he was always expecting a slap for it?" His skin was hot, sandpaper scratching overtop his muscles in thick waves of cloyingly sharp, white-hot needles.

"Is it _perfection_ that he can't even handle a hug or a pat on the back because of you, because of everything you've done to him?" Where was the trash can? He was sure he was going to vomit. He could feel it crawling in his throat, tiny little bugs skittering inside of him.

" _That's_ perfection to you? The fact that your son is so afraid of... _everybody_ around him that he can't trust anyone?"

Richard cocked a brow and threw Tony a smirk. "Trust is a very dangerous concept, Mr. Stark. And you should always be careful who you lend it to." The man paused for a fraction of a second before his smile turned sinister, a Cheshire grin that dripped with a thick, malicious venom. "I'm sure you can understand given everything that's happened with your teammates."

Tony's guard slipped for a second. And it was the only break Richard needed to snake his way right through.

"Do you really want him to suffer through the same misery of coming to terms with the fact that trust is a flawed concept built on lies and deceit?"

The billionaire readjusted his glare, though he felt it beginning to lose some of its intensity. He flexed his fingers, rolled his knuckles against the side of his leg. "That's not...that's not always the case," he muttered, feeling a slight wave of dizziness brush up against him for just a second before it was gone. It was getting harder to see straight, so much so that he opted instead to just turn around and close his eyes, discreetly gripping the back of one of the chairs for a modicum of support.

"Mm-hmm...well, if that's so...then why are you all alone?"

There was an intense flux of heat and suddenly Richard was in front of him, staring down with his huge stature and his piercing iron gaze. Tony gritted his teeth and mustered up another scowl, but even that took up more energy than it was worth and soon enough he elected to just lower his head to the floor, shutting his eyes with a tired exhale. He could vaguely hear Richard's soft puff of amusement, the sound of the man's footsteps suddenly circling around him, prowling, a lion trapping its prey.

"Poor Tony Stark, betrayed by his teammates and left all alone to deal with the crumbling mess that is the Accords. Everyone knows how fragile those things are, how close they are to tearing at the seams. Meanwhile, your teammates are out there assaulting hard-working government officials just doing their jobs."

He could hear his breathing, felt it rattling in his chest. God, he was so tired.

"And where is Tony Stark in all of this? Hiding away in his tower, cowering from the mistakes he's caused. Maybe he just doesn't want to face the fact that he put his trust in the wrong people and now he's paying for it. Now he's alone and he's miserable and he's reaching out to anything he can use just to distract himself from the reality of his pitifully pathetic life. And apparently, that means my son, coming up with crazy conspiracies and delving into manic episodes out of sheer desperation. Not very helpful for my boy, in my opinion. But then again, you _are_ really just trying to help yourself, so what's the harm?"

The footsteps stopped. Richard was beside him. It was like the man was radiating an aura of heat, an unbearable burn that seemed to rub up against Tony's skin. "You think you can help my son? When you're already failing at everything else?"

Tony opened his eyes, but didn't turn to look at the man as he backed off. Instead, he just kept his eyes on the floor, kept his ears honed in on the faded whining ringing in his head. The words swirled, hovered around the air in a fog of thick heaviness, like smoke from a cigarette. Even the smell, acrid and bitter, seemed to fill the room.

He waited a moment, two even, before Tony suddenly cracked a small smile and huffed out a laugh. He straightened up and pushed off of the chair he'd been using for support, suddenly feeling a rush of inexplicable energy as his anger reignited in a bright flash of burning rage, but not at the man's words. No...at what the man had been _trying_ to do.

"Oh...you...you're good. You are good, Rich. I have to give you that," Tony muttered, the smile slowly dropping into a firm frown and a deep, intense stare. He saw Richard stiffen at the billionaire's sudden one-eighty.

Tony Stark was no stranger to mental manipulation. He saw it all the time, hell, he wasn't too shabby at it himself. Dealing with the press, with politicians, with stuffy billionaires with brown-nosing tactics and shit-eating grins. It was just another arsenal of war, another weapon he saw used every single day.

And he had to admit that Richard _was_ good, could probably hold his own against the best of the best. He wasn't the most subtle, but Tony had to give the man credit. He really knew how to hit the perfect spot, just nick that little niggling seed of doubt everybody had inside of them and painfully poke at it.

And Richard, obviously sure of his own skill, hadn't been expecting Tony to not be affected by his words, for his eyes were now narrowed n sudden suspicion.

See, it wasn't the fact that Richard had tried to manipulate him that filled Tony with a newfound boiling rage. No...it was that he _knew_ Richard had used such tactics before, only...not on _Tony_.

"A couple minutes of that and Peter's putty in your hands, huh?"

Richard's eyes shrunk to thin little slits in his face as he gritted his teeth. Tony matched the glare head-on.

"And if the verbal abuse isn't enough, you can always fall back on your fists, right? That probably shuts him up quick."

Richard was angry. Tony could see it in the way his teeth were gnashing and how his body had suddenly gotten stiff. His ego was nicked. He'd thrown his hooker and Tony hadn't fallen for it, hadn't folded like everyone else. Instead he'd thrown him off. He'd disjointed him.

He had to take advantage of this now, had to capitalize and see if he could get the man to slip, admit to something he wasn't supposed to, reveal a secret he'd meant to keep hidden.

He had to make this footage count.

"Or maybe you leave him to your cronies since you're apparently too lazy to do it yourself? What was it you were saying, Mr. _Parent of the Year_? Does it still count if _you're_ not the one doing all the disciplining? Seems to me like your goons are better parents to Peter than you are, by your logic."

He stepped closer, closed the distance. Richard leaned back, blinked down at him with a shocked anger that made his cheeks dot with a reddish flush of frustration. Keep pushing. Keep prodding. He was close. He could feel it.

"So what is it, Rich? How does it work? You see Peter doing something you don't like and, what? You signal the Nanny Squad to descend? Let them have their way with him while you stand off to the side doing nothing, wracking up the parenting points while you really just sit there as useless as a drunken housewife?"

They were nose to nose now. The heat was back, like Tony was mere inches away from a burning fire, the sensation blowing across his skin in thick waves of boiling air. "You say you're looking out for Peter's best interests, that you're somehow a good dad, and yet you don't seem to care enough to get your hands dirty. You just pass off that responsibility to some other idiots so you stay out of the line of fire." Tony scoffed, tossed up his hands with a tilt of his head and a mocking smirk. "And you say _I'm_ pathetic? You think _I'm_ the one who's miserable? Cause the only miserable one I see here is you, hiding behind his excuses and his platitudes like some measly little weasel who doesn't even have the balls to own up to his actions."

Their eyes met, an intense battle of glares that filled the room and crackled in the air. "A poor excuse for a father and an even shittier excuse for a man."

Richard curled his fists, lifted a hand...

"How long has it been since Peter started to resent you?"

Silence.

Like a cushion being shoved against a speaker, the whirling noise of tension around the room silenced with a muffled hush of wind. Richard's narrowed glare jolted up into a wide-eyed stare, blinking dumbly at the billionaire before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. His fists slowly uncurled and his hand settled back down to his side.

Tony felt a flare of unease spike in his chest at the sudden change in demeanor, but he didn't relinquish the antagonizing glare on his face, didn't relieve the pressure. He wasn't about to fall for some bluff.

But the unease only grew as Richard's shocked expression suddenly turned...soft. The man swallowed, licking his lips as he glanced away for a fraction of a second. His lips carefully began to spread into another smile, but it wasn't vicious or mocking. Instead, it was almost gentle, like something a _true_ father would use exclusively on their own blubbering child. But even so, Tony could see through it.

Richard Parker wasn't capable of compassion. Tony was certain of that now. That smile wasn't kind. It wasn't gentle. It was patronizing, a physical manifestation of the man's ideas of superiority. And it made Tony's skin crawl.

"Resent me? Stark...Peter _loves_ me."

. . .

. . .

. . .

Lie. A lie. He was lying.

" _What?"_

He was trying to throw Tony off. That's all, that's all it was. Some blatant lie that would turn the tables and get the attention off of Richard, dial down the threat by making some ridiculous declaration as means of a distraction.

That's what it was.

That's what it had to be _._

But as Tony stared at the man's face, heard the little chuckle he let out that just _dripped_ with assurity and a confidence he must have accrued through years of torment and abuse, he felt his resolve slowly begin to falter.

That aura wasn't something you could fake. It wasn't something you could conjure up within a few minutes just to bluff to your competitor. It was a confidence that came through years of experience, a confidence you only held when you knew with one hundred percent certainty that what you said couldn't be poked through, that your words couldn't be denied...because it was the truth.

But...but it _couldn't_ be.

Richard let out a content little sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Whatever notions you have in your head are fun to listen to and all, but they don't matter. You can believe all you want that I'm some vile villain who twirls his mustache while locking my son in dark, decrepit dungeons." He smirked, a cruel taunt. "But that's not what Peter believes. How can he when I'm his last living relative, his last link to true family?"

_(I thought I...I c-could handle it.")_

_("We don't have much of a choice, Mr. Stark.")_

_("Nobody would believe me.")_

Tony stared back at him with furrowed brows, chest bouncing up and down as he tried to suck in more air than was currently being let in. It wasn't true. He was lying. It wasn't _true_. "He..." the words couldn't seem to crawl out.

Richard shrugged his shoulders and leaned up against the door to the room. "He loves me, Stark. More than _anything_. Because I take care of him. I feed him and I clothe him and I shelter him from the horror that is the outside world. He recognizes this." Richard placed a hand to his own chest. "He _knows_ that without me...he'll have nothing, no one. Without me, he's alone."

Tony gritted his teeth, tried to find some more anger to hold onto, something to drive out the freezing grip of ice that had now taken its place. "No, he...you _torture_ him. He doesn't...he can't actually-"

_("I...I-I love him and he loves me, alright? He LOVES me!")_

Tony felt his heart sputter down into his feet.

'You don't believe me? Go ahead and ask him yourself." Richard narrowed his eyes slightly as he pushed off of the door, taking a few prominent steps forward. Tony felt himself moving backwards, the floor seeming to sink underneath him as the man approached. "You wanna know why I'm not worried? You wanna know why I know you won't go to the police?" He leaned closer. Tony couldn't help but meet the man's terrifying stare.

"Because I know Peter would never allow it." He smiled and tilted his head to the side. "He refused it, didn't he? When you offered?"

_("...help me with what?")_

Tony swallowed but the razors in his throat remained.

"Despite the fact that all those claims are _obviously_ not true," Richard glanced up at the ceiling as he said this. "I know how strong his love for me is...and he would never let _anything_ happen to me."

Tony's back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go. Richard leaned in, his lips a few inches from his competitor's ear, too close for the cameras to see, to soft for the audio to hear.

"And if he did...I'd made him pay for it."

The man pulled back ever so slightly, but he didn't raise his voice, kept it just low enough so that only Tony could hear it. "You want the kid so bad? Fine. You can have him. Keep him all summer. Do whatever it is you wanna do, attempt whatever you're hoping to achieve. You do your best." He curled his lip into a sneer. "But if you think _anything_ you can do will change the years of effort I've already put in, then you're kidding yourself."

Tony swore he could see the man's eyes flickering with orange light, like there was a literal fire behind the irises. "That kid belongs to me...and he knows it. How long until you do too?"

Despite the overwhelming sense of danger he felt, backed into a corner and all, despite the exhaustion he felt in his bones or the icy-cold dread sinking into his gut, despite the fact that Richard literally loomed over him like the monster he was, like a soldier curling their metal hand against his chest or driving their shield into his heart, Tony lifted his head and gave the man the darkest look he could possibly muster, a blaze of fury and rage and determination rolled up into one single look that conveyed the deep-seated hatred he felt for Rogers, for Ross, for...everyone and anyone who had made his life as hard as they possibly could, for everyone who placed themselves above all else and disregarded the mess they left behind, for everyone he'd ever been afraid of. He curled his fists, choked down the fluttering of fear and took a deep breath.

"I'm not afraid of you, you son of a bitch." He growled it softly, but the words were spit so forcefully, they could have cracked the walls.

And he wasn't. Not anymore. Now he felt nothing but resolve, an unwavering determination that could not be shaken, not by his ex-teammates, not by the politicians on Capital Hill, and not by the man he now vowed to take down.

Tony wasn't afraid, _couldn't_ be afraid. He wouldn't allow himself to be.

Richard stared down at him and narrowed his eyes, seemed to understand the unspoken declaration now being passed between the two of them. It was clear now. This was war, and it wouldn't end until someone declared surrender.

"Maybe not...but you're not really the one who _needs_ to be afraid of me, are you?"

A war with an unthinkable consequence...and an unknowable end.

A war Tony was _not_ going to lose.

As if on cue from some unseen camera man, Richard leaned back up and straightened out his suit, smiling down with a crowd-pleasing grin. "Well, I think this was a very productive talk, don't you think, Mr. Stark? We do have to do this some other time."

Not one to be outdone, especially now that they'd declared the start to their little battle, Tony threw him his own million-watt grin. "Of course. Preferably when we aren't dealing with a mass media storm, huh?"

He withheld the internal grimace that arose at making small talk with the bastard. Tony coldly brushed past him and made for the door, opening it to let the other through while smiling through gritted teeth. Richard nodded respectfully at him and soon the two were leaving the room that seemed to smoke from the wounds of the battlefield.

**. . . . .**

The walk down the hallways was long and silent, with Tony flexing and unflexing his fingers as he tried to rein his emotions back in. He could feel the uncomfortable itch of heat wavering just underneath his skin, the same feeling he'd felt after the Bridge. It had never truly gone away afterwards, but it had lessened considerably in the days to follow. Now it was back, a itch that made his heartbeat thud dangerously loud in his ears and his muscles coil in preparation for a threat he couldn't see.

Only now he _could_ see it.

Richard was still angry, that much Tony could tell. The man was fairly skilled in concealing his inner thoughts, but it was hard to hide it all from someone who had spent the better part of his own life perfecting the art of lying. His walk was stiff and his shoulders were tense, the veins in his neck just a bit more noticeable than normal. They were small details, but details nevertheless.

Tony narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything, just kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward as they neared the end of the hallway. Considering the main offices for Stark Tower were so expansive, they took up their own floor, complete with separate lobby for the elevators. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they entered.

Peter was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, with Pepper hovering close by in the seat next to him, Rhodey pacing back and forth in front of them like a guard dog on watch. Situated on one of the small tables between the chairs was a rag and a bottle of water - unopened if the sealed cap was anything to go by - and in Pepper's lap was another rag, which she was nervously wringing in her hands.

She was talking to Peter in a voice too low for Tony to make out, but the kid wasn't responding. He wasn't even looking at her. Tony could tell by the teen's body language that he was uncomfortable, hands clinging tightly to the bottom seat cushion of the chair and shoulders tight with tension. His head was down, chin tucked close to his chest and every movement Pepper made elicited another flinch away from her.

Tony could tell the woman had been trying to coax something out of the teen for most likely the better part of his absence. But it was obvious Peter wasn't cooperating, not even enough to allow the woman to clean his face considering it was still bloody with smears of dirt on his cheeks and drying blood dotting his nose.

He knew Peter had to have heard their approach, but the teen waited until Pepper and Rhodey heard it as well before lifting his head.

Rhodey was immediately on guard, squaring his shoulders as he locked his narrowed eyes onto Richard's form. He cautiously glanced over towards his friend before immediately shooting back over to Richard. "Tony, you okay, man? Everything good?"

Tony sucked in a breath and had to try very hard to drag his gaze off of Peter to return Rhodey's question. swallowing down the automatic anger that flared seeing the boy's face again. "It's...fine. Everything's fine." He felt his eye twitch, couldn't help but aim one last jab at the man before him. "Right, _Richard?_ "

Said man merely glanced over his shoulder at him and threw him a fairly convincing smile. "Of course. We really made some progress today that I'm very pleased with. But I do think it's time I head off."

With that, he turned his sights on Peter.

The air in the room shifted as Pepper immediately shot to her feet and Rhodey stepped next to her, the two of them effectively blocking Peter from the man's sights. But Richard wasn't deterred, merely gave a little chuckle and cocked a brow at their sudden defenses.

Neither Pepper nor Rhodey tried to hide it anymore, for they both glared at him with a distain conjured up over a much longer period of time than the fifteen minutes he and Tony were away.

Richard pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and simply leaned back with a condescending smirk before lifting his hand and snapping his fingers with an audible _click._

Instantly, Peter jumped to his feet and silently whisked around the two, coming to stand before his father in the blink of an eye. The teen didn't look up, just kept his eyes locked onto the laminate floors below him, hands fisting into the fabric of his jeans. Before any of the others could say a word of protest, Richard was latching a huge hand around Peter's slender wrist and forcefully yanking him towards the elevator.

"Let's go." Richard's voice no longer hid his annoyance as he dropped his façade. Peter must have picked up on the man's anger, for his face quickly grew an air of unease that he swallowed down with a silent glance to the ground.

Immediately, Tony was there, grabbing onto Peter's outstretched arm just above Richard's fist, fingers curling tight in a desperate hold. " _Wait."_

Richard turned back around with a glare, Peter staring up at Tony with wide eyes as he parted his lips in a silent question. Tony kept his gaze locked into Richard's intensifying scowl. He swallowed before tightening his jaw and hardening his own stare.

"Let him stay."

He could feel Pepper and Rhodey coming up behind him as well as the way Peter's arm trembled in his grip, but he didn't _dare_ let go. Richard didn't either. Instead, his eyes scrunched questioningly as his brow raised.

"It's Monday. He'd be coming here after school anyway." Tony tried to keep his voice level and calm, but it was hard to keep the urgency at bay. If Richard was this angry now, he didn't want to think about what the man would do once he was alone, once he got _Peter_ alone.

Richard stared at him for a good long while and the lobby suddenly felt as suffocating as the conference room. Peter kept flitting his gaze back and forth between Tony and Richard, probably unsure as to what he was supposed to do. So instead, he lowered his gaze back down to his shoes and tried to keep still in their grasp, like a dog on a leash. Tony realized with a sickening twist in his stomach that he was stooping as low as Richard was, physically trying to assert dominance by using Peter as a tool, but what else could he do?

He didn't break his stare with the boy's father, though, not even to spare the kid a reassuring look. He just tightened his grip and focused on keeping his breathing steady and his vision from wavering.

Ever so slowly, Richard's eyes began to fill with an unreadable look. His face grew the same teeth-grinding arrogance as he glanced down at Tony's hand, at the slight tremble in his grip that he desperately tried to quell.

The room was silent. Nobody said anything.

Finally, the man lifted his eyes back up to meet Tony's gaze and his lips grew a sneering grin.

"What do you say?"

Peter's breath shuttered ever so slightly, a whisper of a noise that Tony barely picked up on, especially when the meaning behind the man's words clicked into place.

He felt his face go flush with anger as he narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, shoulders tightening as his body instantly shifted into a tense stand-off. Did this bastard really think he was going to _beg?_

Richard chuckled at the sudden angered shift in the man's demeanor, the humored look making Tony flex his other hand into a fist by his side. Their conversation had left him hot and heated, his emotions brimming just underneath the surface, inches from the top. He could feel them beginning to bubble up against the cracks, spilling out faster than he could push them back in.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell the man off once and for all right in front of his own kid. He'd done it before. He was no cowering shrew when it came to calling people out and he had no limits on who to dish it out to: his own teammates, the courts trying to take his property, even the goddamn Secretary of State had gotten several verbal lashings from him. And each and every time, he had the same thought, the same niggling idea hindering any and all restraint.

_Screw the fucking consequ-_

Richard's grasp on Peter's arm tightened, so much so that the skin began to twist at the sheer strength behind his grip. The teen couldn't hold back the whimper of pain that fell from his lips as he hunched in against the man's hold.

Instantly, a sharp wind blew against the flames in his chest as Tony spared the teen a quick frantic look before whipping his head back up to Richard, the man retaining his dominating smirk, a questioning brow lifting over his forehead.

The consequences...the consequences that weren't _his_ to deal with. The consequences that _he_ wouldn't have to live with. The consequences to this war he had chosen to take part in...

He met the man's antagonizing stare, the look seeming to poke and prod at his restraints, picking at his temper and scratching up against his self-control.

_. . ._

He couldn't.

He couldn't play this like a worry-free billionaire anymore, couldn't prance around carelessly with his words or his actions. The Accords proved that. Ross proved that. Steve proved that. And now Richard was proving it again, standing there using his own son as leverage.

_("Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did. You. Know?")_

He wouldn't fall apart. Not again. He would never let anybody control his emotions, nobody but himself, not anymore. And if that meant putting his pride on the side, then so be it.

"Please."

The word was spat with a pointed venom, but it was said.

Peter lifted his gaze towards Tony's face as he retained Richard's stare, the two locked head-on in an intense, unwavering chain of vision. Finally, Richard leaned back and released Peter's arm.

Immediately, Tony whisked the kid behind his back, completely blocking him from Richard's line of sight. The man adjusted his cuffs again like nothing had even happened before fixing them all with a polite smile. "I'll be in touch. We'll have to schedule that conference soon. Ms. Potts. Colonel Rhodes." And with a few nods to them, he turned on his heel and stepped into the elevator, biting stare holding the room in a tight breathlessness. "Oh, and Peter?"

Tony could feel the kid tense up behind him.

Richard's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Don't be late."

The doors shut. And they were alone.

There was a brief second of silence, a modicum of peace as the air fizzled with the throngs of tension still coursing hot in each of their muscles. The silence was broken, however, by the sharp sound of sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floors.

Tony and the others barely had a chance to turn around in time to see Peter bolt for one of the metal trash cans pressed up against the side wall. And he wasted no time in wrapping his hands around the rim and leaning over before violently heaving into it.

For a single shocked second of silence, the three adults could do little more than stare at the suddenness of it all, eyes blinking dumbly and mouths agape. Their heads were still trying to wrap around the sharp dive the day had taken and each minute seemed to bring a new bout of craziness into the mix.

Nevertheless, Pepper, ever the sharp-sensed woman, was the first to snap out of her thoughts, quickly taking a few hurried steps towards the kid. Her sudden movements seemed to be enough for Tony to reboot as well, for he lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, gently holding her back.

Rhodey, who had been ready to approach as well, stopped and matched Pepper's perplexed stare, to which Tony merely replied with a glance towards the kid and a soft little shake of his head.

Pepper held his stare for a moment before turning towards the closed elevator doors, slipping out of Tony's grasp as she turned to fully face him, a new question reflected onto her face. It was obvious what she was asking, what they _both_ were asking.

_What the hell happened?_

He felt his fingers twitching up against the side of his leg, but didn't say anything, merely turned away with a little sigh and a flick of his hand.

They were worried. He couldn't blame them. They'd recieved just a _taste_ of Richard's ruthlessness, held in a single stare that froze the room in shocking waves of uncomfortable heat.

They didn't know what had happened between them. And he knew they were nervous because of that.

He'd tell them. Just not now.

Peter was shaking _furiously,_ so much so, in fact that he was literally leaning his whole weight against the trash can, throwing himself against it with each retch. The noise itself was painful and loud, like each heave was a punch to the stomach, a violent expulsion of pure air. It wasn't hard to see that nothing was coming up as Peter dry-heaved and panted, eyes closed and face twisted into a look of pain.

Tony spared a glance behind him at the others, who were both holding matching looks of unease and hesitation, before steeling himself and slowly taking a step forward.

"Kid...?" he murmured softly, wishing he could place a hand on the boy's shoulder and gently pry him away from the trash he was using more as a crutch than anything else. But Tony could tell just by the way the trash was literally bending underneath the teen's fingers that any sort of unexpected contact would probably send him flying through the back wall.

Finally, Peter sucked in a breath, the first in a long line of spitting and hurling. It was shaky and wet, lodging in his throat as he gasped, the receptacle creaking against the strain of his fingers curling the metal inward. Strands of long brown hair dropped down around his eyes as the teen stood in silence for a moment, panting in place as his wavering stance leaned heavily against the bin. He didn't look up as he spoke, words thick and strained in his throat.

"...sorry. I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen, for...f-for...I swear I'm not trying to make your lives difficult or his life difficult or anybody's...life difficult, it just..." he was rambling, the words falling from his mouth in jagged puffs of air. His voice dripped with emotion, and not just fear but resignation as well, a certain air of exhaustion that left the words as little more than tiny, crumbling apologies.

"I didn't know it would get this out of hand and I just wasn't thinking. I never should have taken you to Delmar's. I should have known something like this would...and I just...I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." The words started to jumble together as he shut his eyes, peeled himself away from the garbage can and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to it, slowly sliding down to the floor as he continued to mumble a garbled mess of apologies and regret.

Tony Stark was never one to be left speechless, but there was no other way to describe the sheer emptiness in his throat as he stared at the kid literally cowering at his feet, too drained to even stand up. It reminded him of the sudden sickness he'd felt in the car sitting idle outside Peter's house that first night, that night that had changed everything.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath that threatened to lodge in his lungs before warily turning back around. Rhodey's fists were clenched and his face was twisted into a look of silent rage that the Colonel was all too skilled at keeping contained, and Pepper was wringing out her hands, eyes zeroed in on the kid as she took a few deep breaths one after the other, like she was trying hard not to cry.

Tony didn't waste any time.

"I need a second, okay? Alone."

Their separate looks instantly morphed into mirror images of disbelief, neither of them seeming to understand nor be willing to oblige, and Tony could see why. He knew that there was close to nothing that could get him to leave this room now and he was sure Pepper and Rhodey probably felt the same, especially since they kept flickering their gazes back and forth between meeting Tony's stare and checking to make sure the kid in the corner hadn't evaporated into smoke.

But he also knew that their reluctance probably stemmed from something a bit greater. He could still feel a fog hovering around his head-space, the teeming anger he still felt buzzing overtop his skin, an anger that wavered strongly like a candle flickering with each puff of air that blew past it. It wouldn't take much to set him off now, especially with his body still dealing with the after-effects of the detox...and they knew it.

Still, he knew he would never get anything out of Peter while there were this many people in the room, especially when they were all as riled up as they currently were and Peter was as agitated as he was. The tension was near palpable, after all.

"Please."

Pepper stared at him, held his gaze tightly as she scanned his face. After a moment, she crinkled the corners of her eyes and tilted her head. "Are you sure?" her voice was quiet, a whisper.

Tony didn't spare it a second of thought, nodding his head firmly.

The hesitation was still there, he could see it in both of their eyes. But a few more glances to the teen behind him as well as to the determined look in Tony's eyes finally seemed to be enough to sway them. Rhodey sighed and turned to make his way out of the lobby, Pepper delaying for just a little while longer to stare at Peter before brushing a hand against the side of Tony's arm and following after her friend.

And then Peter and Tony were alone for the first time in three days.

It took a second for Tony to find the will power to actually turn back around and was shocked to see that Peter was staring at him. He was still scrunched up with his shoulder pressing into the wall, one knee bent close to his chest as he stared out at him. His eyes weren't as scared or frightened as Tony had been expecting, instead staring at him with a certain edge, an unsettling apprehension that kept his form tense and wound-tight.

He didn't say anything. Tony didn't either. The two of them stared back at each other and for a brief moment, Tony was transported back into the penthouse, back into that dark room with nothing but bottles upon bottles littering the floor around him, staring back into the last face he'd been expecting to see, the face of someone who wasn't giving up, somehow who was willing to help.

Well, now it was his turn to help.

He took a few careful steps forward, making sure to keep his movements precise and slow as Peter followed him with his eyes, gaze sharp. He stopped a few steps away and slowly got down onto his knees, lowering his form as to not look so imposing. It seemed to work a bit, for the tightness in the kid's muscles shifted slightly.

Now that they were this close, Tony noticed that Peter's arms weren't really wrapped around himself, but instead he was cradling one against his chest. For a brief, guilt-filled moment, Tony wondered if it was the arm he and Richard had grabbed in their sick little game of finders-keepers. But as the kid shifted a bit, he noticed that it wasn't really his arm that he was cradling, but his _hand_ , more specifically, the twisted, crooked shape of his fingers.

Tony held his breath and had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from growling.

Slowly, he flipped his own hand, resting the back of it against his knee as he showed his palm. "Let me see," his voice was soft, nothing like how he'd spoken to Richard.

Peter stared at him, then down at his hand. The teen tensed his jaw and shut his eyes before shaking his head. "No. No...you're angry."

He had to admit, that took him by surprise. "What? Peter, no I'm not-"

" _Yes_ you are," the kid said with a noticeable snap in his voice, not enough to be real anger, but enough for Tony to notice. "I heard you. You and my dad...you were yelling. I don't know what about. I didn't want to listen but it was loud. And..." Peter swallowed, lifting his eyes again. "And your heartbeat..."

"What about it?"

"I...I can hear it."

Tony blinked at that, furrowing his brows as he slowly opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. What were you supposed to say to that?

Peter didn't seem to mind the silence, however as he continued, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tightened his grip on his wrist before defensively tucking his arm further against his chest. "You can lie all you want but you can't fake that. I know how it sounds when someone's angry. I hear it all the time. And _you're_ angry. I _know_ you are." he shifted again, but this time he must have bumped his hand against the wall, for he sucked in a hiss and grimaced. Tony instinctively reached out, only for the teen to rear back and press himself harder against the wall. _"Don't..."_

"Peter...I-" The words faltered in his throat.

This threw him off. He'd never had to deal with something like this before, had never even _heard_ of something like this before. Sure he knew the kid had crazy stupid-weird powers, super-hearing included on that list, but he never could have guessed it would extend so far.

And it made him nervous.

He could manage his microexpressions and alter his body language all he wanted, but he couldn't change his own heartbeat. And now that he knew it was a dead giveaway? It wasn't making him feel very _good._

He lifted his eyes back to the kid and couldn't help but run his gaze across the boy's face, especially now that they actually had a minute to breathe.

The bruises had darkened in the time he'd been gone, the majority of them now deepening into a deep purplish-black, including the ones on his neck, which had morphed into a dark purplish-red. His eye wasn't swollen shut, but the skin _underneath_ was so red and so bruised it looked like he'd been burned. His lip was cut in more than one place and there were a ton of little nicks and scratches that he hadn't seen before, each of them red and angry. The blood under his nose was drying, but it was so crooked, Tony could actually _see_ where the break was.

He was ashamed at himself for having to look away. But it was hard seeing it all up close.

It had been different before, when Peter would show up with a black eye or a bleeding arm, Tony had his suspicions and his hang-ups, but there was always a small part of him that just wanted to believe the kid was clumsy, that he was getting these injuries while out on patrol and that nothing else was going on.

Oh, he knew, of course, knew it was a dumb idea, knew that the feelings in his gut and the clear blatant signs weren't to be ignored...but it was hard not to hold onto that hope.

Now that hope was gone, replaced with cold, hard _reality_. And that reality was staring up at him with a bloody and blackened face. A reality that he still _couldn't stop._

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The least he could do was be honest.

"Alright. I'm angry. You're right. I _am_. But...not at _you."_ He leaned closer and shook his head as Peter glanced away. "Kid, how can you possibly think I'm angry at you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, staring down at the floor as he slowly began to relax some of the stiffness in his body, maybe more at ease now that he knew Tony wasn't going to try and touch him. He brushed his fingers against the hand curled against his chest.

" _He_ was."

Tony felt his hands twitch.

"And he _should_ be. I caused all of this, did all of this. I caused all these problems and now you two have to deal with it all because I was stupid and didn't think about what would happen if we were seen in public!" Peter slapped a free hand against the side of his head and fisted some of his hair, growling all the while. "They're going crazy because of _me_ , because they're interested in _me_ , all because I was an _idiot!_ I..." The teen sucked in a shaky breathe and shut his eyes, body instantly seeming to deflate as he rested his head against the wall. "I did this. I...I'm sorry."

Tony stared in silence for a moment, trying to digest the words without reigniting the churn that had been plaguing his stomach for days now. He itched to move forward, to get closer to the kid, but he kept his distance. "Peter...this isn't your fault, kid," he said, almost in disbelief, like he couldn't believe the boy didn't know that.

Peter continued to stare at the ground through half-lidded eyes and didn't bother in lifting the side of his head away from the wall. "Dad said-"

"I don't _care_ what he said." Tony snapped before quickly realizing how loud he'd actually been as he noticed the teen jump slightly and stare back at him with a now fully-alert gaze. The man sighed and leaned back, trying to keep his frustrations at bay and his emotions in check, reminding himself that Richard was gone and there was no point in staying angry. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to somehow get his heartbeat back under control.

It was unsettling, knowing he wasn't the only one who could hear it pounding away in his ears. But he knew it was probably even _more_ unsettling for the kid, hearing it like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off in a flurry of screaming and slapping.

"It's not right, kid," he finally sighed. _"He's_ not right."

Peter blinked at him for a moment before tightening his hold on his wrist. "He's _always_ right."

Despite the whispered hush it came out as, it rang around in Tony's ears like church bells. He gritted his teeth and tried to block it out. "Not about this."

The teen finally relaxed his hawk-like stare once more and dropped it back down to the floor, but didn't say much else. It was obvious he wasn't convinced, though Tony wasn't surprised. He himself was having a hard time getting the image of Richard's piercing stare out of his head, like a virus lingering around for too long, he could feel it clinging to the back of his head, refusing to leave. It was hard to imagine what those eyes looked like when they were staring you down in the middle of a beating.

The teen bit at his lower lip before carefully lifting his head back up, shifting uncomfortably once more from his position on the floor. "He...my dad...h-he said conference. Before he left. What...what was he talking about?"

Tony gave a small shake of his head and waved his hand away, not in the mood to discuss the idiots outside, especially when they weren't the most pressing thing on his mind right now. "Nothing, kid. Nothing you need to worry about right n-"

" _What..._ was he talking about?" Peter repeated, voice harder as his eyes narrowed slightly.

The man blinked for a moment, not having been expecting the sudden forcefulness. He could see that the kid was uncomfortable with his own shift in demeanor, for he was clenching and unclenching his grip on his wrist and his eyes kept flickering around Tony's face, like he was expecting the man to be upset at his sudden assertiveness.

Tony paused for a moment before tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders. "His plan, his...solution for all of this. He wants to set up a press conference between the three of us, field their questions, hopefully shrink down the amount of time this'll stretch out for."

He could see the kid's face beginning to slacken as he spoke, eyes widening slightly as his lips parted. It wasn't much news, wasn't important at all in Tony's book, especially not at this exact moment. But the look stretching across Peter's face could have convinced him that he'd just said the sky was turning green, a shocked confusion that made his eyes narrow and his brows furrow.

"He wants... _what?_ He wants to...? I...I-I don't understand, he wants _me_ to...to be in...?" The kid's words were beginning to tumble over each other, body regaining the same shivering tightness of nerves that had first set in minutes ago. But it was only when he started to see the boy's chest begin to bounce up and down faster and faster did Tony realize the kid was starting to panic.

"Pete, hey-"

"You heard wrong. You _must_ have heard wrong. He would _never_ actually suggest putting me up...in...i-in front of all those...and the cameras...why would he...he wouldn't. He _wouldn't..._."

In the three seconds it took Tony to scan the kid in shock, he noticed Peter was beginning to grab at his cradled hand, not the wrist but the actual hand, crooked fingers and all, clenching his grip around them so tightly, in fact, that the skin was beginning to turn white. The kid was still rambling, staring down at the floor in confusion and didn't even seem to _notice_ what he was doing.

"He wouldn't. No...he...h-he _wouldn't."_

Tony lurched forward and tried to grab at his wrist, pull it away. "Peter-!"

His fingers were only able to brush up against the boy's skin before the words were cut off with a sharp inhale of choked breath, the kid slamming his back against the wall as his eyes cleared of the sudden haze they'd been gathering, replaced instead with a sharp, instinctive intensity that immediately put Tony on edge. "Don't _touch me!_ Just _don't!_ I told you not to _touch_ me! _S-stop touching me!_ Just- just _don't. Don't!"_

Instantly, the man raised his hands into the air and leaned away as the kid continued to yell. "Okay, okay - hey, look!"

Peter locked his jaw and kept his pointed stare locked onto the man's form. "I'm not gonna touch you, okay? See, see my hands? No touching, I..." Tony trailed off for a moment as he stared back at the look on the kid's face, the look slowly morphing from sharp anger into sullen fear.

"I...I'm not going to... _hurt_ you."

The fact that Tony felt he _had_ to say something at all made his chest burn again. But this time it wasn't out of anger, but sadness. Disappointment. "Peter, it's _me_ , kid. You know I would _never_...right?"

The kid stared at him, blinked at him, said nothing.

Tony sighed. He thought they'd moved past this. He thought that night in the penthouse had proved that level of trust, established the baseline fact that Peter didn't have to be afraid of him anymore, that they could get past that and begin to develop that trust into something a bit more concrete.

Was he wrong?

Was this kid still as afraid of him as before?

But as the thoughts curled against his head and began to tighten the pressure buckling against his ribs, Peter's eyes slowly began to mist over as he squeezed them shut and leaned back against the wall, ducking his head and cradling his hand as his breathing hitched.

"I didn't mean to make him mad," he whispered with a choked-up sniffle.

_("But you're not really the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?")_

And suddenly, Tony understood.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes with a tight clench of his fists, slowly releasing it with a sigh as he gazed back at the boy. "Ah, kid...I know. I _know_ you didn't." He tried to keep his voice level, keep it soft and quiet and everything Richard's never was. "But he's gone now. He's gone...and I'm not, alright?"

Peter sniffed and carefully glanced over. Tony kept their distance, held down the desire to inch closer and kept his eyes on the kid. "I'm right here. I'm just trying to help, okay? You know me. You know I just wanna help." Slowly, he reached a hand out and pressed it down onto the floor between them, Peter watching intently as Tony made sure to keep his hand far enough away so that it wouldn't accidentally touch him.

"Please?"

Tony realized he'd been saying that a lot today. This time it felt different.

Peter flexed his fingers against his wrist, thrummed them against the skin on his arm as he watched Tony slowly retract his hand back into his lap, leaving the floor clear for Peter to set his own hand down without the threat of contact. The teen's gaze flickered back and forth between the floor and the man in contemplation before he hesitantly began to uncurl his arm away from his chest.

Slowly, the teen lowered the hand down to the floor, carefully extending his shaking fingers as best he could, spreading them against the cold linoleum so that the man could get a good view without having to touch him. But as soon as he did, Tony had to try very hard to keep from lurching from his seat.

Peter's fingers were snapped and crooked, stretched so tightly, the clear indent of broken bone could be seen pressing against the pale skin, threatening to tear straight through it. There was a few flimsy bandages wrapped around his two middle fingers, scuffed with dirt and grime. The skin itself was turning black, his palm twisted and indented as it shook against the floor.

Tony sucked in a shaky breath, rubbing a hand against his mouth. "Jesus..."

Peter must have heard the sudden uptake in his heartbeat and the way his body tensed up tightly, for he quickly whisked his hand back to his chest. "Don't get mad," he said quickly, voice shaking slightly.

Tony, in return, quickly lifted his hands again for the teen to see. "I'm not. I swear I'm not." It took a second of silence and another bout of staring, but Peter slowly took another breath and gave a small nod of his head, but he didn't put his hand back, just kept it pressed against his chest and out of view.

The billionaire leaned back on his haunches for a second to think in the silence that followed. His eyes continued to trail the image of the kid's hand in his head before moving to scan the scratches still shining red on his face, the darkening bruising around his neck and the angle of his crooked nose still leaving specks of blood to trail down his lip.

Another breath, deep and long. Slowly, Tony pressed his own hands down onto the floor and pushed himself up to his feet. Peter watched him as he brushed his hands against the side of his suit and began to shrug the jacket off, tossing it down onto the floor before adding his tie as well, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt and pushing them up his arms.

There was no point in pretending for anybody anymore.

Peter watched with a renewed stiffness to his muscles, most likely over the fact that Tony was now standing over him instead of kneeling down at his level. But the man still didn't make any moves to approach the kid, didn't try to touch him or get closer. Instead, there was a beat of silence, a moment of staring.

Then a hand. A palm extending towards him.

The kid flinched at first at the sudden sight of it, only to watch as it stopped about a foot away from him, leaving a sizable gap that only Peter could close. Tony gazed down at him, but didn't do anything else, didn't say anything else.

Silence.

Peter slowly dragged his gaze from the man's face down to his extended hand, blinking dumbly for a moment before licking at his lip and shying away for a brief second, tightening the grip on his arm as he held it close.

Tony knew they both realized it: this wasn't the first time he'd extended a hand to the kid. Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, all moments of fear and uncertainty as he stretched out a hand, desperate for the kid to take it, desperate for him to accept his help and give him the little bit of trust he needed to actually make a difference, to actually do something to change things.

He knew now, though. Knew he could only extend his hand so far before the task fell on Peter to close the distance. He couldn't force it, couldn't will it to be. It was the kid's choice, his decision. He had to _choose_ to accept Tony's help.

The teen seemed to realize this as well, for he turned his head away from the man's hand and gazed instead at the fingers tucked near his chest. He bit at his lower lip as he gingerly brushed his fingers over the bloodied and crooked knuckles, at the scuffs turning the skin red and raw. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tightly before peeling them back open and turning them towards Tony.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter's other hand began to peel itself away from his wrist, away from the damaged fingers he was so desperate to protect. His arm shook a bit, but he took a breath and steadied it as he hesitantly began to move it forward.

The tips of his fingers grazed Tony's palm before quickly jolting back a few inches, testing a reaction. When they received none, he carefully began to slide his own hand into Tony's, giving a small squeeze as he wrapped his fingers around the man's palm. Tony took a second to make sure the kid was certain before wrapping his own fingers tight.

They both took a deep breath at that.

Carefully, Tony pulled the kid up to his feet, where he wobbled a bit before steadying himself against the wall. As soon as he was stable, he slid his hand out of Tony's own and readjusting it back towards his chest. Tony didn't mind and just decided to take the small wins where he could get them.

So without another word, the man turned on his heel and began to walk towards the elevators. Peter only hesitated for a second before silently following. FRIDAY opened the doors without him having to say anything, the pair stepping inside and standing side by side.

"Med-bay, FRI."

_"Of course, Boss."_

Peter spared him a tiny look, but didn't say anything, just glanced back down at his shoes. They stood in silence as the elevator ascended, Tony feeling more than a little grateful at the brief moment of peace. The day was taking quite a toll on him, he could feel it in the way his shoulders sagged if he didn't exert enough energy to keep them up, felt it in the way his eyes automatically wanted to close it he wasn't paying much attention.

The silence, while calming on his fraying nerves, did little to distract him from the headache he still hadn't been able to shake. At least with Richard, with Pepper and Rhodey and Peter freaking out, there was enough to keep his mind off of it, to keep his mind off of everything that was making him long for a bed or a couch or even a semi-flat surface he could pass out on. But now that there was nothing, he could hear the ringing again, the annoyingly ever-present humming that bounced around in his head and seemed to echo down his eardrum.

In the corner of eye, he could see Peter perk his head up and glance over at him like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately remained silent, so Tony decided to ignore it in favor of trying to push down the grating ring making his eyes hurt.

He was able to get it down to semi-tolerable levels as the doors to the elevator opened up onto a sleek metal floor of the tower. The walls weren't a calm, pristine cream like the lobby to the main offices, but were instead a cold, sleek, shiny steel, reinforcing the sterile environment they were entering. Tony stepped out of the hallway, Peter following on his heels.

The doors opened up onto a long pathway that extended out and expanded into a large room similar to the labs upstairs, stretching up into a single huge med-bay, an open floor plan complete with dozens of high-tech machines, monitors and gadgets that seemed to fill the room from one end to the other, not to mention the handful of beds, four on one side of the room and four on the opposite side, each facing one another.

Tony noticed Peter swiveling his head around, eyes wide as he took in the sights around him. Walking further into the room, the man approached one of the closest beds and patted the top of it. Peter glanced over at him before cautiously approaching, silently hopping on top and resting his hands in his lap. Tony forced himself not to look at the kid and instead to focus on gathering various supplies from underneath the cabinets and inside the drawers.

He pulled out a few rolls of bandages, wipes, braces, anything and everything he felt he'd need to get the kid looking semi-normal again. And all the while, Peter remained silent, watching him with those bright brown eyes of his. Tony tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help the small unsettling feeling he felt traveling up his spine as he'd catch sight of the look from the corner of his eyes.

Peter was honestly acting all sorts of ways today. He hadn't said a single word while Richard was around, reminding Tony of how he'd used to act back when they first met. And even after the man left it was hard to miss the effect he had on the kid, an effect that was so strong, it left him heaving over a trash can as soon as he was gone.

But now? Now that Richard _was_ gone and it was just the two of them, the kid's behavior shifted once again. Now, instead of nothing but nerves and fidgety anxiety, it seemed to mingle with something else, something worse. The kid wasn't tripping over his words to apologize anymore or rambling and stuttering in stress.

He was silent. Disturbingly so. Not even his breathing, which should have been strained against the crooked angle of his nose, made much of a sound. He just sat there with his eyes fixed on his lap, body still like a statue, like he could just fade into the background without a second thought, like a...like a-

_("...a model of perfect behavior...")_

Tony shivered.

His hand shook for a brief second, clattering against the metal counters before he quickly steadied it with a silent curse. He paused for a moment as he gazed down at the materials he'd collected before casting a small glance over his shoulder.

"I need to...there are a lot of cuts and..." he flickered his gaze over the teen's face, over the patches of skin that needed his attention, needed to be treated... _touched._ "Are you...okay with that?"

Peter raised his head and stared at him, stared down at the medical supplies littering the counter. He hesitated, then sniffed and gave a muted nod. Tony decided to work quickly before the teen thought better of it. So with that, he grabbed one of the towels folded beside him and reached for the sink installed against the back wall, turning the faucet and letting a few drops of water dampen the towel just a tad.

Draping it over his shoulder, he grabbed the rest of the stuff and slid it onto one of the wheeled rolling counters while using one foot to drag a nearby stool closer to the bed. He plopped down, took a small breath and grabbed the towel. There wasn't much he could do for the bruising on his face or neck, but the cuts were at least treatable, even with his meager medical knowledge.

He could see Peter's free hand curling against the edge of the bed as Tony held the towel out, could practically see the tension bleeding from the kid's veins as he gingerly began to wipe the damp cloth against one of the cuts on his forehead, clearing it of the dirt smudged around it. Trying to be as careful as humanly possible, Tony was quick with his work, making sure to keep his fingers from making direct contact with the kid's skin as much as possible.

As soon as the wound was cleared of the specks of dried blood and dirt, Tony removed one of the butterfly bandages from its packaging and gingerly laid it atop the teen's skin, making careful work of avoiding any painful tugging or pulling of the marks.

He felt Peter take a few deep breaths, saw some of the tension beginning to leave his muscles as Tony continued from one cut to the next without incident, cleaning it with the towel before applying the bandages. One by one, Peter slowly eased up and the two fell into a comfortable rhythm as the worst of the cuts to his forehead and cheek were dealt with, leaving just his nose and his hand to tackle.

But Tony had something he needed to deal with first.

"Tell me what happened."

The kid jolted in his seat at the unexpected question and the sudden break to their near ten minutes of silence. He blinked and stared at the man, who was cleaning the last few bits of dirt from the boy's forehead.

"What?"

"With your dad. Before you showed up. What happened?"

Peter seemed to take a second to let the man's words sink in and another to really think about them before he was turning his head away with an upset sigh. "Mr. Stark...you know I can't."

"Yes you can." Tony tossed the towel back onto the table and rested his elbows on his knees. "We had a deal, remember? You want this to stay secret? Then you tell me. No exceptions. No backing out. No making excuses. I don't wanna hear them."

In the back of his head, Tony knew there was probably a more tactful way of bringing this up, but he was not in the mood for dancing around anymore. Richard had given him enough of a run-around, he didn't need another from his son.

He'd made that deal for a reason, had forced himself to come to some sort of compromise. He had to at least find _some_ benefits to it, and one of the biggest was that he refused to be left in the dark anymore, not when things like this were literally being dropped on his doorstep. That deal had to mean something. It had to _count_ for something.

It had to make a difference somehow.

Peter continued to stare at him, continued to fidget in his seat as he stole glances behind him and around him, like he was looking for something to distract him with. But Tony held the kid's gaze, held his look with one of his own that blatantly said he wasn't about to drop it.

The teen's eyes drifted down to his hands after a moment of silence, a silence Tony longed to break. But he knew he had to at least give the kid some leeway if he was going to get anything out of him. Deal or no, Peter was still a bit of a brick-wall when it came to things like this and the last thing either of them needed was for Tony's impatience to somehow make this harder than it already was.

Finally, after a long bout of near unbearable quiet, Peter hesitantly lifted his eyes to the man's face, fingers clenching the fabric of his pants. "You won't..."

Tony leaned forward, eyes serious. "Nothing leaves this tower."

Peter stole a breath, a shaky, wavering breath that barely made it down his throat. He tightened his jaw and began to brush against his bloodied knuckles again. Tony made sure to keep a closer eye on his hands this time, if only to make sure the kid didn't start to tug or squeeze at his broken fingers again from sheer nerves.

But the boy's focus was elsewhere now. "It was lunchtime when they showed up." His voice was quiet like before, not timid or shy, just quiet. Resigned. "I was called to the office and he was already there. He was making small talk with my principal and...and the guidance counselor, just chatting away like he always does, being nice and pleasant. He donates a lot of money to the school so he has a pretty good relationship with people there. He was acting like nothing was wrong, but...I knew he was angry...I could tell."

His gaze grew a little sharper. "Mr. Morita didn't suspect a thing, of course. Why would he? He never does. _Nobody_ ever does. I...They just talked about the reporters, about what they might do to stop it or work around it or...I don't know. I wasn't really listening at that point." The teen leaned forward, rested his elbows against his knees as he stared down at the floor, bringing an arm to wrap around his midsection. He looked tired.

"They finished up and we got in the car and started driving. He didn't tell me where we were going, didn't tell me anything really, but I had a hunch. And he just...h-he...was just so angry," he murmured, level tone finally wavering slightly as he took a sharp breath and clenched his fist. "He started talking...and then he started _shouting,_ said something about _you_ and then _I_ got angry which only made things worse, of course, because-"

"Something about me?" Tony furrowed his brow and tilted his head.

Peter blinked, briefly pulled from the memories fluttering around him as he gave a small nod. "Y-yeah. I...don't know if you know this, but he _really_ doesn't like you."

The man scoffed and leaned back on the stool. "Yeah well the feeling's mutual."

Peter glanced away and shifted slightly in the seat, only to stop suddenly and grimace, tightening his hold around his midsection as he leaned in slightly and groaned. Instantly, Tony was on edge, rearing forward slightly as he reached out before he could think better of it. "Kid? What's wrong? Is there something else-?"

His fingers brushed against the kid's shoulder and Peter quickly jumped back like he'd been burned, tightening his hold on his stomach as he ducked from the unexpected touch. Tony felt a lurching frustration build against his chest but he quickly swallowed down whatever he wanted to say as he took a deep breath and huffed a sigh, roughly sitting back down in his chair as he held up his hands in surrender again. "It's...fine. Fine." He rubbed at his eyes and tried to remind himself that it wasn't _him_ the kid really had an issue with.

Still, it was getting a bit hard not to take it personally.

"You were saying?" he said as he folded his arms over his chest.

Peter stared at him and must have taken note of the growing frustration Tony was trying very hard to hide, for the kid suddenly lowered his gaze in guilt, readjusting the arm wrapped around his stomach as his face grew a hot wash of shame. Tony bit the inside of his cheek and mentally cursed himself for allowing his own hang-ups to make the kid feel bad, but he remained silent. There was already too much to handle here, he couldn't worry about that right now.

Said kid began to fiddle with his knuckles a little more, pressing down on the torn and bloodied skin. The billionaire made a mental note of the sight but still remained silent, not wanting the kid to clam up just as he was starting to continue.

"I...I said something," he finally murmured, fingers moving down to rub at his wrist before shutting his eyes and shaking his head furiously. "I should have just kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't have provoked him, but I did. I was stupid and I _said_ something stupid and then we were pulling over and he was getting out of the car and there was nobody around. I kept looking but nobody ever showed up, not even when I started to get out too. I kept looking. I kept looking but nobody ever came. There was nobody _there,_ Mr. Stark, and-!"

His frantic ramblings cut off with a sudden choke of air, the noise so startling that Tony actually leaned forward once more, itching to get up from the stool again as Peter ducked and continued to shake his head, eyes squeezed tight as he curled his fingers around his wrist with bone-crushing strength, the skin twisting white.

"...He was just _so angry."_

"Peter-"

The teen's eyes snapped back open and he suddenly leaned forward, making Tony jump as the kid stared at him with a frantic look. "I didn't mean to make him so angry, I swear. I swear, I really do. I didn't mean it. I _swear_ , I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to. I was just-"

"Hey, hey!" Tony stepped forward, holding his hands out in a calming motion as the kid began to trip over his own words, talking too fast to even breathe. "It's okay! I believe you. I...I believe you. It's alright. It's okay."

Peter tucked his chin close to his chest and took a few shaky breathes, Tony leaving his hands to hover over the boy's shoulders as he took a second to just calm down. He tucked his legs closer together and wrapped his arms back around his midsection. Tony noticed and quickly realized there was _definitely_ something he'd missed.

The man took a few deep breathes of his own as he tried not to let the sight rattle him, tried to keep calm and remain the stable adult that was needed for a situation like this. He cleared his throat slightly, if only to dissolve the anxiety beginning to block his airways. Slowly he moved forward again, keeping his hands in clear view of the kid's line of sight as he began to lower them towards the boy's shirt.

"Peter, how often does he do this? How often does he...get angry?"

The kid watched his hands, then looked back up at him and Tony could clearly see the uncertainty in his eyes. Tony gave a reassuring nod of his head, as if to affirm that their deal of secrecy was still in place. "It's okay..."

Peter dropped his gaze from Tony's face back down to the man's hands, watching as they carefully brushed one side of his open jacket away and began to curl around the hem of his shirt. He kept rubbing at his wrist, pulling the skin this way and that as he turned his gaze back on the floor. "It...doesn't happen all that often. Usually, it's the others. But, when he does..."

His voice trailed off and the second Tony began to lift the edge of the boy's shirt, Peter's hand shot out and wrapped around Tony's wrist, stilling his movements in a vice-like hold. The billionaire startled for a second before lifting his eyes to meet the boy's piercing stare. "You...you swear not to get mad?" His voice shook. So did his hand.

Tony fixed him with a steady gaze of his own, keeping his arm still in the teen's grip as he blinked calmly at him. "I swear."

Peter maintained eye contact for a moment longer before warily lowering his head again, hesitantly unwrapping his fingers from the man's wrist before whisking his arm close to his chest again. He shut his eyes and didn't say anything else.

The man didn't move right away, even as the boy let go of him. Peter's grip had been firm, shockingly so, even going as far as to leave little white marks on his wrist that slowly faded back into normal skin-tone. Another sickening twist of unease stabbed into his gut. Tony swallowed down whatever was slinking around the back of his throat as he sucked in a breath and lifted the teen's shirt.

The air quickly left soon after in one sharp punch.

The first things he noticed were the bones. Sharp and prominent, the teen's rib cage was so visible he could literally count the bones and each space between them, leading down to his stomach which curved around into a toned-abdomen so thin, Tony might have been able to put both hands around it and make the ends of his fingers touch. Other than the lean muscles that were admittedly well-defined and strong, there was not a single _ounce_ of fat anywhere on the boy's stomach, nothing but muscle and skin and a thin, sickly _skeleton._

But that wasn't what his gaze lingered on because _somehow_ that wasn't the worst of it.

Peter's abdomen was _covered_ in bruises, deep blackish-red swathes of color that smeared across the porcelain white of his skin like blood stains, dark and horrendously numerous, so much so that there was barely any skin left untouched by the marks, nothing but patches of red, yellow, purple, black and a sickening mix of it all.

And the _scars_...deep, long prominent marks running up and down his chest, his side, his stomach, criss-crossing over his skin like chicken-scratch. There were so many mingled with the bruising that Tony couldn't even tell if any if them were fresh and bleeding, for the blood would have mixed right in with the deep black of the kid's darkening skin.

" _God,_ Peter!" Tony couldn't help the words that fell from his mouth as he leapt forward, quickly brushing his hands around the teen's skin in search of any signs of blood or broken bones in the mass of new bruising and old scarring that looked like the kid had done time with a rabid bull. But Peter didn't leave him much time to inspect before he was pushing the man away and quickly shoving his shirt back down. "You swore you wouldn't get mad!"

Tony stared at him incredulously, mouth agape as he shook his head in disbelief. "I..." the words cut off with a sharp scoff as he quickly locked his jaw, feeling the heat beginning to build back up again in sharp waves of anger and frustration. He gritted his teeth and felt his fingers flexing at his sides. " _I'm_ _not mad."_

Peter wasn't buying it. "Yes you are! I can hear it!"

"Yeah! Well-" His skin was tingling again. His head was pounding and his heart was beating out of his control. _His_ heart. It was _his_ heartbeat, he was the only one who should be able to hear it. He already had to mask so much nowadays and now he had to hide that as well?!

He aimed his glare down at the floor and clenched his fists, unable to hold in the flurry of anger he'd been harboring deep inside. "That's cheating. I can't fucking control my own goddamn heartbeat," he growled defensively before quickly clamping his mouth shut and turning away before he could say anything more to the kid.

Tony pressed his palms back down against the surface of the counter, the sleek metal cold against his burning hands. He lowered his head and held in a groan as he felt the ringing return full-force, banging against the sides of his head in a skull-splintering whine that made his eyes blur and his teeth chatter.

God, he was so tired.

It was all getting to be too much. The noise in his head, the tightness in his chest, the ache in his muscles, the churning in his gut, all of it was wrapping tight inside of him in a heavy weight of dread threatening to send him straight through the floor. Richard had basically drained him of the last of his energy, the last of his defenses. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, focus on feeling the air entering in through his constricting, shriveling lungs.

A sudden noise broke through the ringing, mingled with it, timid and obviously confused.

"Are you...okay?"

He could feel the kid's presence near him. He didn't open his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he muttered, wincing as it intensified the shrieking.

"Your ears are ringing."

That _did_ get him to open his eyes. He whisked around to face the kid, ignoring the way the lights wavered in his vision, blurry and out of focus. He furrowed his brows and leveled the boy a hard stare. "You can...don't tell me you can _hear_ that," he breathed in shock.

Peter didn't respond, just shuffled awkwardly on his feet and rubbed his arm.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut once more and turned away with a harsh sigh. "Of course you can." Somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it. So instead, he stood in the silence that followed and kept on breathing, kept his focus on each inhale and exhale and tried to push down the banging in his head, the screaming in his ears and the skipping of his heart.

But it was hard to focus on anything past the heat, the slow build-up of warmth that was pinching his chest and twisting his skin.

He couldn't hold it back anymore, the waves of rage and anger that he'd brewed in the conference room, feelings he'd been trying desperately to choke down for the sake of the kid. But he wasn't strong enough and now he could feel them all around him, hovering around his head in a piercing whine of noise that left him breathless.

It was the penthouse all over again, the tingling heat that had never fully gone away, now back full-force and with a vengeance. It was Siberia, a rage he couldn't control, seeping into his muscles and forcing his body to move without his consent, leaving him a stranded passenger defenseless against it. Now it was Richard, standing in front of him laughing in spite, laughing and smiling and staring with those eyes that left the entire room burning in skin-searing heat.

It made his fingers curl, nails biting into his palms as his muscles coiled and his arms shook. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing, couldn't feel anything past the heat and the burning and the fire wrapping around him in thick black tendrils of suffocating rage.

. . .

Then a hand.

Only this time...it wasn't his.

He snapped open his eyes, forced them to blink and focus as he turned his head. Peter was next to him now, tiny form leaning against the counter as he rested the tips of his fingers against the back of Tony's hand, which was still curled into a tight fist atop the surface. His touch was soft, almost hesitant and yet still grounding in a sense. His skin was still as icy as ever, a sharp contrast to the steaming heat that seemed to bubble against Tony's own. Peter stared up at him with those bright brown eyes of his that seemed to swallow everything else, blocking out the wavering lights and the pulsing black encroaching on his vision...and the ringing, left it a muted whisper to swirl around his ear.

"Are you okay?" Peter repeated, but this time his voice was quiet, gentle.

For a minute, Tony said nothing, just listened to the sound of his own breathing instead of the numbing whine, kept looking at the kid's shining irises instead of the anger he craved so desperately to release, just kept his mind on the cold resting atop his hand and not on the warmth slowly receding back to the center of his chest to sit and stew.

He glanced down at the kid's hand and couldn't help but swallow the dryness in his throat as he realized the kid was attempting to return contact again, even if it was something as small as the tips of his fingers. It was still something. He lifted his gaze and noticed that Peter's eyes hadn't left his face.

He sighed before giving a small smile, a strained little thing that probably didn't do much to mask his weariness as he leaned up against the counter. "I'm alright, kid," he said softly before scoffing with a roll of his eyes. "Figures you come in looking like you fell off the back of a truck doing 80 on the highway and ask if _I'm_ okay. You know you're weird, right?"

"So I've been told." Peter sniffed, grimacing slightly as the air violently entered his crooked nose.

Tony pursed his lips and straightened up, leering down at the broken feature. His work still wasn't done, despite his sudden lack of self-control. He shuffled awkwardly on his feet for a moment before gesturing. "I, uh...I need to set that thing, kid. Last thing we need is your freaky healing fusing that thing incorrectly." He had no idea how fast the boy's healing actually worked but he didn't plan on finding out today.

Peter didn't need to be directed back to the bed as he sat back down himself, tilting his head slightly. "You don't have to. I can do it myself. I've done it loads of times."

Tony sighed and leveled a long look up at the ceiling. "I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Peter blushed. Tony approached and held up his hands, once again attracting the kid's eye sight and making clear view of his movements before slowly reaching for the kid's face. He gingerly began to brush his fingers against the boy's nose, poking around the sight itself before garnering an approximation of where the actual break was from the kid's small hisses of pain. He leaned back a bit.

"Now, I know how to do this. Trust me, I've had so many accidents and have had to learn so many different ways to _deal_ with said accidents that I'm a paper cut away from a medical degree. But if you'd rather I get one of my on-calls to do this, I-"

" _No._ " Peter said quickly and sharply before clearing his throat and glancing away nervously. "I...I don't want anybody t...I don't think I can handle, uh...just the...I don't want anyone else to...to touch me and...I, um.." Tony could see the kid beginning to get flustered, cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"Okay, it's alright. I understand," he said quickly.

It wasn't hard to see that the kid's aversion to contact was especially strong today and Tony couldn't blame him. Despite the recounting, he still had no _real_ idea of what it was like with his father. Just _talking_ to the bastard was hard enough, so he really couldn't imagine what the kid had gone through in that car. It made sense that his normal fear of anything and everything physical would be amplified today. But Tony was damn well not about to let the teen feel _embarrassed_ about it.

"I wasn't just blowing air, you know. I _do_ know how to do this."

The teen nodded and didn't say anything else as Tony carefully began to reposition his hands on either side of the kid's nose. "'Kay, you ready?"

A stiff nod.

"Okay. On three. One-"

He quickly jolted his fingers, snapping the bone back into place and aligning the structures back up again. Peter shut his eyes and briefly sucked in a muted hiss, but other than that, there was no reaction. No cry of pain or stiffening of the joints. Somehow, that made Tony feel worse but he quickly dismissed the thoughts as he whisked his hands a safe distance away from the kid and stared down at him. "You okay?"

Peter blinked a bit and wrinkled his nose slightly before staring back up at him. Once again, he gave a small little nod.

Tony held his gaze for a moment, couldn't help but mark the stark differences between Peter's eyes and his father's. Despite the piercing hold they both had, Peter's gaze was soft and bright, nothing like the dark uncomfortable tingle that accompanied his father's stare. And as he gazed at the kid's eyes, he couldn't help but jolt back to the last time he'd held that look, the last time he'd held that stare.

Had it really only been three days ago?

Swirling the thought in his head, Tony was unable to hold in a slight, sudden laugh as he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, the stress he'd felt before seeming to settle for unexpected laughter as its release rather than violent rage. "Jeez kid. Do all of our interactions have to be so dramatic?" At least there was no rain or thunder to accompany them this time.

Peter lifted a brow and cocked his head, voice level. "I thought you liked dramatics."

"I like when _I'm_ causing the dramatics. It's no fun when it's somebody else hogging all the glory."

The teen leaned back in his seat on the bed and rested his damaged hand in his lap. "Right. Guess I should have gotten that from all the flashy metal suits."

Tony scoffed. "Alright, Mr. Red-and-Blue-spandex."

"Says the guy who _made_ my suit."

"I...alright you got me there."

He chuckled and noticed that Peter cracked a smile, the first Tony had seen from him all day. The billionaire retained his smile and even felt it widen as he noticed the air of tension that had filled the air since Peter's arrival finally seemed to be wavering, fading bit by bit, leaving traces of the _real_ Peter to peek through.

He began to fiddle with the bandages on the cart again, lining his fingers against the edges as he lifted his head and gestured around at the room, which he'd noted Peter taking an interest in before. "I don't think we ever made it this far when I was showing you around the tower, you know...two _lifetimes_ ago. What do you think?"

Peter swiveled his head to gaze around the room. "I didn't even know you _had_ a med-bay here."

"Course. This _did_ used to be Avengers Tower and we weren't known to be the safest bunch. But once we moved HQ over to the Compound, we downgraded here in favor of upping the scopes over there." He was finally able to unpeel a good enough strip of bandage away from the protective packaging. "So if you're ever planning on cutting off an arm or anything, you're gonna wanna make sure to do it near the Compound, kay?"

Peter held up his smile. "I'll keep that in mind. But _this_ is downgrading? It's like a hospital in here."

"Exactly. You expect something from Tony Stark to look like it came out of a government funded public hospital? Please! We can print you new organs at the Compound."

" _Seriously?"_

"Okay, well I might be overexaggerating a bit, but whenever Cho stops by to brief me on her requirements for new tech upgrades, she updates me on her work." Tony held up both his hands and the bandage in clear view of the kid again, showing him exactly what he had in his grasp. Peter eyed it up for a second before seeming to mark his approval. The man approached and gingerly began to lay on the first strip. "Soon enough, she'll be able to regrow your own organs from leftover shred samples. That's what she was working on with her Cradle _."_

Peter twitched his face slightly, seeming to adjust to the new bandages stretching over the bridge of his nose as Tony began to tear off another strip to apply. "I read about that when I was in elementary school. Artificial cell regeneration. She was the first to figure out how to bond microencapsulated STEM cells to organic human skin cells with a complete one hundred percent success rate, no immune system defenses, rejection cycles, degeneration effects, anything. She wrote a paper on it." Tony threw the kid an impressed look and Peter glanced away with a shy smile as he lifted his prime hand to rub against the back of his neck. "I, uh...I did a science fair project based on her research back in fifth grade."

"Yeah? You win?"

The kid actually gave a little pout at that. "No. I got second place, but it was totally rigged. Tommy Garafalo's mom is lead judge despite having _no_ expertise in any scientific field and her D-average kid just _happens_ to win with his paper-mache solar system that, I would like to add, forgot Saturn? I'm calling bull."

Tony scoffed and began to lay a second bandage over the bridge of his nose. "How do you _forget_ Saturn? It's like, the flashiest planet there is. It's - _it's the Tony Stark of planets, oh my god."_

Peter actually laughed, leaning back as he shut his eyes with a lopsided grin. Tony smiled as he watched the kid crawl out of the cocoon his father had wrapped him in, reemerging back into his normal self again. It made the tightness in his chest recede as the core of heat sitting in his gut kept getting smaller and smaller, releasing him of the staggering fury he'd been wrapped in for the better part of the afternoon. This was better. This was...right.

Tony sat back down on the stool and carefully reached for the boy's hand. Other than assessing it for the individual breaks in the fingers, Tony tried not to spare the sight too much of a look, not wanting to get angry again now that he was finally calming down and Peter was finally getting comfortable again.

But still...there were questions he couldn't keep ignoring.

"So...you gonna tell me why you're so worried about this press conference?"

Peter seemed unprepared for the question, blinking with furrowed brows for a moment. "What?"

Tony reached for another clean towel sitting on the counter and began to carefully wipe the boy's bloodied knuckles with the wet cloth. He tried to keep his head down and his eyes focused on his work, hoped that the lack of eye contact might make the boy less uncomfortable. But he doubted it.

"Come on. You didn't actually think I was going to just drop it and forget, did you?"

Despite his efforts, he could still feel as the kid tensed up, muscles slowly recoiling as he glanced away and tried to keep his voice light. "I...it's nothing. Really, I just-"

"Pete."

"I...I just think it's a bad idea, that's all."

That wasn't all, _couldn't_ be all, not when the very idea of it had freaked the kid out so much that he'd literally begun to crush his own broken fingers. That type of visceral reaction didn't come from _nothing_. But, Tony still didn't understand.

"Why? It makes sense. You want those reporters gone, don't you? Well, this is how we do that."

Suddenly, Peter's hand was whisking out of his grasp, the billionaire jolting slightly at the sharp movement as the kid held it close and glared at the floor, face suddenly agitated. "I just don't _want to_ , alright?" he snapped with an anger Tony wasn't expecting.

...Nor was he fooled by it.

He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath as he watched the boy refuse to meet his gaze once again. The man chewed on his lip and glanced down at the towel in his hand, running it along his fingertips, along the scars lining his palm, _important_ scars, scars that actually _meant_ something to him, something other than betrayal.

Tony carefully flipped the towel onto his shoulder and stood up from his seat. Peter didn't watch him this time, didn't keep laser-focus on his movements, not even when Tony settled down and took a seat next to him on the bed, a mere couple of inches away. The kid just...didn't react. He just kept his sharpened gaze on the floor and his arm tucked close to his chest. Tony let the kid sit for a minute, wondered if he would look at him on his own. When he didn't, the man finally decided to speak, making sure to keep his voice soft.

"Hey..."

Just with one word, Peter was shutting his eyes and turning his head away with a pinched frown, like he was afraid of the noise, of the weight of his voice. But with a slow, shaky breath, the kid blinked open his eyes and carefully turned to stare up at the man. Tony made sure to hold the boy's stare, hold it so he couldn't slip away, couldn't hide in his shell again.

"What are you so afraid of?"

Peter's lips parted, quivering slightly even as his mouth shut and his jaw tightened. His eyes remained dry, though, retained their careful, glass-like quality of fragility and carefully, constructed composure. His free hand fisted at the bed sheets underneath them before unfurling, fingers twitching against the covers. He took another breath, softer this time, and his face slowly began to relent its tightly-wound resistance.

"...It's just...I...I've never done it in front of so many people before."

Tony carefully squinted his eyes, making sure to show no anger as he took deep even breaths, heartrate slow and composed in both his chest _and_ in Peter's ears. "Done what, kid?"

"...Lied."

The man said nothing. Peter turned away again, like he couldn't bare to keep staring back at him. "It's easy when I just have to smile for my neighbors, or push my sleeves down before class, or shrug and say ' _nothing much'_ when people ask me how things are going, cause I know they don't _really_ care. And...and that's fine. It's fine. Second nature at this point. But..." His gaze flickered down as he pulled his bloody hand away from his chest, staring at the bent and crooked nature of his fingers. "But doing it in front of all those reporters, those cameras, everyone who will see from their TVs or hear from the radio. I just..."

He gritted his teeth before huffing a sharp, forceful breath. "What if...what if I slip up and say something wrong? What if people start getting suspicious? What if they ask questions I'm not ready for and I don't have an answer prepared or a good enough lie to tell? Those people are literally trained in sniffing out liars and uncovering the truth. I just..."

He trailed off for a moment before lifting his gaze back towards Tony. 'What if they figure it out?"

Tony couldn't help it, couldn't help the bloom of frustration that appeared at the kid's questions. Still, he kept his voice level, kept his heart steady and calm. "Would that really be such a bad thing?"

Peter said nothing, just sighed and angled his head away again.

The billionaire tapped his fingers together before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let his hands hang between his legs. Peter Parker, despite his young age, was never an easy kid to read. Tony liked to think himself somewhat of an expert in detecting a person's inward thoughts just by their body language, their facial expressions and outward appearance. Usually it was easy, most people not knowing what to hide and what to conceal to keep themselves truly private.

Not Peter though. Peter was like him, like _Richard,_ only showing what he wanted people to see. Even when his emotions _seemed_ to be bare on his sleeves like earlier that day, there was still a factor of mystery, an unknown element Tony could never pin down. He could never tell exactly what the kid was thinking, what was going through his head at a moment's notice. Those eyes, despite their warmth, despite their brightness, were sealed tight, a piercing steel barrier unwavering in its guard.

But now? As Tony watched the kid's fidgety movements that seemed just a bit less controlled than before, as he watched the careful tapping of the boy's fingers against the edge of the bed and the way he kept trying to hide his now _faltering_ guarded gaze, Tony knew exactly what the kid wanted.

Reassurance.

Tony sighed and tilted his head towards the boy, who still hadn't looked up yet. "Kid...I-I know what you _want_ me to say. I know you want me to reassure you that everything's going to be fine and that you'll convince them like you've somehow convinced everybody, and that protecting your dad is the right way to go about this, that...that lying is your only shot, but..."

_("I care very much for my son, Stark.")_

"But I can't. Because I promised not to lie to you."

The kid didn't lift his head, but he did throw a small tired glance Tony's way before dropping his gaze back down to the ground. Tony watched the kid fiddle with his fingers, carefully scraping his nail against some of the caked-on blood smeared against the back of his hand. The man sighed and tapped his knuckle against the edge of his hand.

"Peter, I wish you would tell someone...tell someone who actually has the tools to do something about it. I wish you'd see that you don't have to keep doing this, don't have to...put up with all of this. I...to be honest, I just wish you'd stop being so goddamn stubborn and listen to _reason,_ kid."

The teen still didn't say anything, but now he looked frustrated, sullen gaze turning sharper as he scoffed.

"But I know it's not that simple."

Peter blinked, then carefully raised his head, brows furrowed as if he wasn't sure he'd heard the man correctly. Tony met his gaze and then very carefully reached out to grab the kid's damaged hand, gently pulling it forward so that he could get better access to it. Peter didn't fight his hold, didn't tug to free his hand. He just watched as Tony took the towel still hanging from his shoulder and began to finish cleaning the scratched skin.

"I know you're scared. I know you've been doing this for years now, dealing with things I don't even want to think about. And I know you've been doing it _alone_." He set the towel down and turned to look the boy in the eyes again, drinking in that questioning, wavering gaze that couldn't help but listen, a gaze he _hoped_ would understand.

Tony could practically hear Pepper in his ear, hear the words she'd spoken to him days ago, acknowledging his fears, bringing them to light, and wiping them away all in one sweeping go. He wondered if he could do the same. "But you don't have to do that anymore. It's not just you. It's Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. It's your friends and May and...it's anyone and everyone you can count on now, even if it's not a lot of 'em." He smirked and reached for the table again, grabbing the bandages from the surface. "And that includes me. Cause like it or not, I'm here to stay, Pete."

Said boy still didn't say anything, not even as Tony began to work on his hand, not when he warned him to prepare for the bones to be popped back into place, not when he _did_ pop said bones back into place (which was fairly easy considering how clean and obvious each break was), and not when he carefully began to wrap his fingers in a more secure binding, looping around his palm and down his wrist.

Tony didn't put the kid's hand down as he finished. He set the bandages down, pushed the little cart away, but he didn't drop the hand. He just kept tapping his fingers against the top, played with the new wrappings looped securely against his skin. Peter didn't fight his grip, just kept watching him in silence.

The man swallowed, took a breath and sat up a little straighter. "So...if you tell the world about your dad, then great. If you don't...then...then that's okay too."

He stared at the kid, their gazes meeting in a tight, meaningful hold.

"Cause whatever you decide...I've got your back."

For a moment, nobody said anything. Peter kept his gaze locked tight, eyes not even flickering around his face. They stayed set on Tony's own gaze, like they were searching his stare for any signs of deception, any hints of deceit. Tony knew the kid would find none. He meant every word.

He knew he couldn't force Peter to comply, couldn't force the teen to give up and turn in his father. The boy had made that clear in his ten years of silence, a record he was unlikely to break anytime soon. But he could show the boy something else, he could _give_ him something else, something Tony knew to be important, something he had in Pepper and Rhodey, something he'd been craving ever since Steve, ever since the others had uprooted his life. Something neither he nor the kid could do without anymore.

Support.

Support from people they could _trust._

Peter finally glanced away, but his face wasn't nervous or unsure as it had been moments ago. It reminded Tony of how he'd looked in the penthouse, calm and collected and gentle. When he spoke, his voice was the same.

"I, um...I saw the news. Washington DC. I...I heard about what happened with...you know."

Tony did know.

The kid gave a little shrug of his shoulder, but his eyes remained steady in their gaze, clear and confident in a way they hadn't been for hours.

"I've got yours too...if you need me."

Tony held his stare for a second, drank in the seriousness in the kid's tone, the assurity. For a brief second, a flash of a flash, barely even a fragment of a moment, Tony thought of something. It was a small little thought, almost too small to even notice, but it was there.

It was a memory, a wavering haze of fog that was hard to decipher. He saw a booth, a diner, too-big glasses of milkshakes and cheesy songs from the 70s playing on a jukebox in the corner. A song he recognized, a classic. Steve didn't know it, but that was common.

_("My version of a classic can't even be played cause nobody owns gramophones anymore.")_

Before he knew it, the thought was gone, the memory dissolved and it was over. But the feelings it left behind remained, the same feelings he'd felt sitting in that booth bonding at 2am with the only other occupant in the tower that couldn't sleep that night. The one person he thought could understand.

Steve _didn't_ understand. Tony realized that now.

But Peter did.

Tony couldn't help but smile, gave a little chuckle as he patted the kid's shoulder. Peter smiled, a _sure_ smile that didn't falter in any way. The man turned and glanced around the room, a small huff of air blowing long and tired from his lips. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, glancing up at the ceiling before turning his head.

"You hungry?"

Peter tilted his head back and forth before settling on a nod.

"Great. Hey FRI?"

_"Yes, sir?"_

"What's the closest Chinese place around here?

_"There is a 24-hour Chinese-based restaurant located 0.5 miles down 34th Street along the East-"_

"Ah, okay- going for the rhetorical there. Just order three of everything off the menu, okay?"

He paused for a moment of consideration before sparing Peter a once-over.

"You _are_ okay with Chinese, right?"

"Only if you don't get mad at me for putting ketchup on my egg rolls."

* * *

**Monday - May 2, 2016**

**Stark Tower - Common Floor**

**01:42 PM**

_"This is Meagan Sanders coming...ugg-_ attempting _to come to you live from-"_

_"WHOO!"_

_"M-Midtown School of Science and Technology, recently discovered school of Peter Parker, son of Parkstem CEO Richard Parker and source of-"_

_"Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!"_

_"-controversy over the past few days with many speculating over the story behind his relation to Tony Stark, figurehead of Stark Industries and his father's top competitor. And as you can see...right now we are in the middle of a massive demonstration of..."_

_"GO TIGERS!"_

_"-M-Midtown stud-"_

_"What's up, everyone! Flash Thompson here! Follow me at FlashMob4Life and-"_

_"Give me that! Goddamn it, KYLE! Put down that stupid camera and help me deal with these fucking kids!"_

Peter took a bite of his dumpling and tilted his head, watching the reporter currently trying to push another group of kids out of the camera's frame and failing miserably.

"Are you allowed to swear on national news?"

Rhodey leaned back in his seat and scrunched his face slightly. "I don't think so."

"Eeshh. Hang in there, Meagan."

Happy grunted and fiddled with his container of rice. "I'd be more worried for Kyle. Mobs always pick off the slow, fat guys first. Dude doesn't stand a chance."

Rhodey chuckled and Peter just shook his head before popping another dumpling.

The smell of kung pao chicken and chow mein wafted through the air of the common floor, hovering over the massive spread of dozens upon dozens of Chinese food containers, boxes, and take-out bins all overflowing with food which had been rightfully picked apart over the past hour and a half, the majority of which had been spent flicking through the various news stations all circling around the same story: Midtown.

Nearly every station they flicked to had reporters out in the field: vans parked and personnel planted outside the school which was now overflowing with freshman, juniors, sophomores and seniors all basking in the newfound freedom and limelight they were relishing in, making complete fools of themselves like any high schooler would when confronted with national news spotlights.

They all sat around on the couches, Pepper and Rhodey sharing one of the side couches while Happy sat in an opposite armchair. Peter sat alone on the larger sectional, legs folded under him in a crisscrossed tuck that kept him small and out of the way. But the atmosphere in the air was anything but tense. In fact, the room had been ringing with laughter for the better part of the afternoon, mainly due to the chaos unfolding on the TV.

Pepper shook her head as she watched a group of boys begin to take off their shirts and twirl them over their heads like flags. "How long do you think they'll keep this up?"

Peter shrugged. "Eh, you'd be surprised. It's a school full of nothing but nerds and tech geeks." He gestured to the screen. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened since the last pep rally."

Rhodey scoffed and rested his arm against the lip of the couch, grabbing a bottle of water from the floor and twisting the cap off with one hand. "Really? Pep rally?"

"Oh yeah. Sarah Geretsky crowd-surfed from the top bleacher and broke her leg falling on our mascot. It was pretty wild."

Happy cocked a brow and set his container down on the table, blowing a sigh through his lips. "They can't possibly stay interested for very long. They're teenagers. Don't you all have attention spans of - what, like 30 seconds or something?"

"We're kids, not...goldfish."

Rhodey snorted and Pepper chuckled as she shook her head and grabbed her empty plate, standing up from her seat and stepping away from the couches. Peter smiled and turned back to the TV. "Trust me, it's a crowd of angsty, lonely teenagers with nothing on their schedules but homework, projects, robotics club and chess. They'll be there all night."

The Colonel smirked. "Perfect."

Tony watched from the kitchen with a smirk, leaning against the counter as he watched the TV and waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing its latest batch. His cravings for something warm and filling had finally won him over, but with the mere thought of alcohol still stirring nauseating discomfort, he'd settled for his second favorite and only _slightly_ less troubling but more socially acceptable addiction.

He noticed Pepper approaching and gestured to the machine. "Need a cup? Get it now, cause I'm pretty sure I'm not even going to wait for this stuff to cool down before chugging straight from the pot."

The woman rolled her eyes with a smile as she dumped her plate into the trash can, cleaning her hands with a napkin before coming around the counter to stand next to Tony. He scooted over to make room for her as she rested her own elbows next to him and leaned against the marbled surface, shoulder pressing into his.

They didn't say anything for a moment, just listened to the gurgling of the coffee pot mingling with the shouting from the TV and the laughs and scoffs coming from the boys on the couch. Tony tapped his fingers together, matching in time to the dull throbbing he could still feel lurking behind his eyes, a soft ache that had lessened to a manageable level since that morning.

Pepper didn't turn to look at him as she stared out into the living room, voice low as the tips of her fingers began to trace the edge of her sleeves. "How's he doing?"

Tony knew who she was talking about. His eyes drifted over to the kid, who was still pressed into the corner of the couch, subtly staying far away from both Rhodey and Happy respectively while maintaining a nonchalant demeanor. Despite his posture though, his face was lax and his tone was happy. Shockingly (or maybe not, he really had to read up on the kid's powers), the bruises on his face were already beginning to discolor into a less-vibrant purple, the little nicks on his face shrinking with each passing hour. His hand was still bandaged and tucked close, only straying out whenever he grabbed for more food before quickly hiding away again.

"All things considered?" He watched Peter laugh at something Rhodey said, his shoulders bouncing and strands of hair falling down around his eyes as he smiled. "Better than he should be. But I can't really complain, honestly."

Tony kept his voice low, though he knew it was pretty pointless. Peter would probably be able to hear him from three floors away. Still, he wasn't too concerned about the boy listening in on their conversation. At most Peter would probably just let the words wash into background garble. He was too polite for eavesdropping.

Pepper hummed, a simple response that let him know she'd heard. Her fingers continued to run along the sides of her sleeves, pushing the fabric up her arms. "He won't let us get close."

"Noticed that, huh?"

It was hard not to. Even with the much more relaxed setting, it was painfully obvious that Peter was still acting a bit...off. The kid was fairly subtle about it surprisingly enough, keeping his movements slow and inconspicuous. But sparing the boy a second glance would show the bare hint of tension still present in his shoulders, the almost _protective_ way he kept his bandaged arm tucked close to his chest or how he constantly kept flicking his eyes back and forth between each person in the room, as if to keep tabs on them all.

She tilted her head slightly and twitched her lips. "I don't think he even knows he's doing it."

Tony let out a low breath, bringing a hand to run through his hair before dragging it down the side of his face, feeling the calloused skin of his palm rubbing against his temple. "It's...it's nothing personal, Pep. He doesn't mean...It's just...today, with everything that's happened-" He couldn't bring himself to continue, the words seeming to exhaust him just by rattling around in his head.

"I know." She glanced away. "It's just..."

The man gave a small, muted nod. "Yeah." He did know.

Pepper sighed and straightened up, turning so that her back was now pressing against the corner of the counter as she folded her arms over her chest and glanced down at him, expression lighter. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's only one in the afternoon and not three in the morning."

The woman huffed out a little chuckle. "Tell me about it. It's been the longest morning of my life, and that's counting that Dallas Meeting Riot back in 2013."

Tony cocked a brow. "Well, I don't wanna say that's what you get for going to Dallas, but-"

"We are not having this conversation again."

The man snickered, Pepper doing the same before they fell into another comfortable silence. Tony fell back into watching Peter, smiling as he noticed the kid talking animatedly to Rhodey and Happy about something on the TV. It took a bit longer than it should have, but Tony finally blinked out of it and turned away from the scene, straightening up and glancing over at the coffee machine that seemed to be getting slower and slower with each passing second.

"I can't believe I never saw it before."

Tony turned back around at Pepper's voice, the woman staring down at the floor with her arms still folded tight over her chest.

"Saw what?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly, tightening her grip on her arms. " _Him_. Richard. How...just... _what_ he is."

It was almost impressive, the sudden, visceral reaction Tony felt churning in his stomach just by the sound of the man's name. He pushed it down and remained silent as he spared a glance back out at the living room. Peter hadn't turned around, hadn't stiffened or anything. He might have heard, but he still wasn't _listening_ , which was good.

Pepper pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I wasn't lying when I said we'd met before. We had...at that gala." Her lips curled slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. "And he just...he seemed so nice, so... _normal._ " Her face pinched as she glanced away.

"I shook his hand."

Tony sucked in a tight breath and scoffed. "Come on. You can't do that. He's spent his life building that persona, that idea of perfection. You're not _supposed_ to see through it. He's...he's good at it. The lying." He narrowed his eyes slightly and pointed his sharp stare at the floor. "Guess it was something he passed down."

It was hard to remember that Richard's _white-knight_ schtick wasn't as see-through for everybody else as it was for him. Even before he'd met Peter and received an insider's look, he could always tell that Richard was full of shit, clear as day. Of course, the guy threw enough charitable deeds and volunteer work around to completely cover himself in a shiny protective coat of public love, so the chances of anybody else ever figuring out the truth were slim to none. So it shouldn't have been surprising that Pepper had fallen for it just as everyone else had.

Her face remained troubled as her eyes hardened. "Doesn't make it any better."

Tony said nothing, just lifted his head back up to the living room. He noticed Peter shifting from his seat as the boy rose up to his feet and grabbed his plate. Pepper must have noticed as well, for she straightened up and leaned closer to Tony. "Safe to say, summer can't come soon enough," she whispered before stepping away from him and out of the kitchen.

She spared Peter a smile as she walked past, the boy doing the same while simultaneously adding a few inches of distance between them as he side-stepped her. Tony pretended not to have noticed as the kid reached the kitchen and made his way over to the trash.

"Well? Any updates?" Tony asked with a smirk as he glanced behind him at the TV.

Peter smiled as he began to push his empty paper plate into the garbage. "Yeah. One of the seniors pulled up with a van full of water guns so now the reporters are barricading behind their news vans."

He rolled his eyes and leaned up against the counter again. "Jeez, those guys love to overreact. A bit of water never hurt anybody."

"Oh, it's not... _water."_

Tony blinked then carefully craned his neck back over towards the TV, narrowing his eyes before straightening back up again. " _Oh._ "

"Yeah."

The man scoffed which quickly devolved into a laugh, Peter mirroring the sound as the billionaire folded his arms over his chest. "Gotta give you kids points for creativity. Where do you even _get_ that much tomato juice on such short notice?"

The teen shrugged. "I don't know, but Ned says it's crazy down there."

"He's there?"

Peter wiped his hand on a stray napkin. "Yeah. Him and Michelle, who I'm not so sure didn't coordinate this whole entire thing."

Tony reached over towards one of the food containers, plucking out a stray egg roll. "Your little girlfriend?"

The kid threw him a dirty look, to which Tony smirked and gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Your little friend who happens to be a girl? Why do you say that?"

"Well, cause every time I ask her about it, she just tells me to not ask questions I don't want the answer to, so I mean..."

Tony chuckled as he took a bite before pointing the now half-eaten roll at the teen. "Well, whether she did or didn't, it's all very much appreciated. Not much quality TV on at this time of day, but watching camera men dodging water balloons full of..." he glanced at the TV. "...what I can only assume to be cat food...is pretty entertaining."

Peter grinned as he finished washing his unbandaged hand in the sink and began to dab it on one of the towels laying on the counter. "Probably almost as much as being there. Honestly, it's a good thing I'm not or I don't think I'd be able to resist joining in."

Tony watched as the boy finished drying his hand before eyeing the bottles of water still lining the counter from that weekend. "What's so wrong with that?"

The teen shrugged with a snort. "Ha, my dad would kill me if he saw me acting like that, especially in public and _definitely_ if it was in front of cameras."

Tony's smile faltered and his stomach immediately clenched, his appetite dwindling as the small comment dragged him back into a reality that had been hiding underneath the past hour of food, TV and laughing. Pepper's words had made him itch, sure. But Peter seemed to have a special skill in making him feel sick to his stomach with nothing but a few passing words.

The kid must have noticed the way his face fell as he turned back around with a bottle of water in his hands. He blinked up at him, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?"

The billionaire looked up, looked at the kid's face, the kid's _scarred_ face.

The bruises were still there. He could try to pretend all he wanted, could watch the kid laugh and joke and watch TV like nothing was wrong, but it wouldn't change the fact that the bruises were still there, black and ugly against the pale white of his skin. It wouldn't change the fact that his hand was still swathed in thick, medical bandages leaving his fingers stiff and unbendable. It wouldn't change what had happened that morning. Nothing could change that.

Still, not wanted to reprieve the tense, awkward uncomfortableness of earlier, Tony wiped away whatever unease was marring his face and gave the kid a smirk. "Nothing. It's...it's nothing, kid. Don't worry about it."

Peter, however, didn't seem to be so quick to forget. He held his stare for a moment before his eyes narrowed and the teen leaned his own elbows down against the counter, throwing the man an unimpressed look that Tony was surprised he had the confidence to muster. "Okay, if that doesn't work on you, it most definitely isn't going to work on me."

Tony paused for a moment before scoffing, unable to keep a genuine smile from slipping onto his face in place of the fake one. "Okay, _that's_ how we're playing this?"

"Oh, that is _so_ how we're playing this."

Neither of them could hold back their laughs as Tony shook his head and Peter glanced down at his water bottle, passing it back and forth between his hands as he slid it against the counter. The teen rapped his knuckle against the side of the bottle as they settled before gazing back up at the man, voice soft. "So what _is_ wrong?"

Tony took a breath, took a second to compose himself. Like sand slipping through his fingers, the joyous energy that always seemed to build up whenever he was messing around with the kid slowly began to drop, falling down to weigh heavy in his stomach.

There _was_ something wrong.

_(Resent me? Stark...Peter loves me.")_

Something he still couldn't get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how distracted he tried to become, it burned bright.

_("You can believe all you want that I'm some vile villain who twirls his mustache while locking my son in dark, decrepit dungeons. But that's not what Peter sees.")_

He could feel it pressing against the side of his skull, pressing down in his stomach, a permanent mark that wouldn't go away until he knew for sure, until he heard it himself, confirmed it before his own eyes.

_("He loves me, Stark. More than anything")_

He had to know.

The man hesitated for a moment, buying himself some time as he grabbed one of the stools and sat down. Peter remained standing, fingers slowly running up and down along the side of the bottle, condensation dripping down onto the table in a small puddle.

He had to know.

He _had_ to know.

_("Go ahead and ask him yourself.")_

"Are you angry?"

Peter reared back slightly at the question, obviously caught off-guard. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with a perplexed smile. "At you? Why would I-?"

"No, no." Tony shook his head, holding up a hand in emphasis before lowering it back down to the table as he noticed the slight tremble in his fingers. The billionaire took a breath, licked his lips and carefully began to tap his knuckles against the counter, if only to release some of the nervous energy now pooling into his appendages. He focused hard on keeping his heartbeat level and calm. "I mean are you upset...at your father?"

Peter's smile disappeared.

"Are you angry at him for...for what he did?"

He knew what to expect. Peter would get nervous, get fidgety, probably look away and give him some half-hearted excuse that steered clear of a straight answer and then mumble out a string of sorry replies before hastily looking for a way out of the conversation. At this point, Tony felt he was finally starting to get the hang of it.

Which was why he was utterly shocked when Peter did none of that.

Instead, the teen seemed to consider the question for a moment before his smile reappeared on his face, light and genuine and _not-at-all_ _angry_.

The teen gave a little chuckle. "Heh...no. Course not." He picked up the water bottle with his free hand and began to gesture with it. "I...okay, yeah, it freaks me out a bit whenever it happens, of course. It's always pretty intense in the heat of the moment, you know?" The boy paused in his movements and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. "But after a bit when I stop being _so_ dramatic, calm down, gain my senses, it's...it's fine. He was only doing what _every_ parent does. It's not like he doesn't have the right to."

Peter made to open the bottle, only to pause as he realized his current bandaged predicament. He gave a nervous chuckle and sheepishly glanced up at Tony. "You think you could...?"

Tony had to take a second to register the request, his brain seeming to churn sluggishly through what he was hearing. He blinked a few times and dragged himself out of it. "Right. Sure." His voice was soft, distant, distracted. But he unscrewed the cap and shakily handed the bottle back. Peter didn't seem to notice his unease.

"Thanks." He took the bottle back but didn't take a sip right away as he let out a sharp breath "Look, does it suck? Yeah. No doubt. It's the worst. But I'm not like... _angry_ about it," he scoffed with a smile. "He was just, like...being a dad, doing all that parenting stuff I don't understand cause I'm young and stupid."

"You're not stupid." It was automatic, the words softly coming out of Tony's mouth in a breathy whisper before he could think better of it.

Peter paused for a moment before letting out a chuckle and glancing up at the ceiling. "Oh, you'd be surprised. And anyway, it was my own fault. I was wrong and he was right, simple as that. Besides, considering how rude and disrespectful I was being, I really can't blame him for doing what he did. I was basically asking for it."

He made to turn away, only to hesitate as he lowered his gaze to the bottle in his hands and let out a little sigh, finally displaying a slight sense of unease. "It's just...a lot of people probably wouldn't understand that. They just don't get it, you know?" His face grew another gentle smile that made Tony's fingers clench.

"I just wouldn't want him to get in trouble for something he does out of love."

Tony watched the kid finally take a sip from the bottle, suddenly unable to feel the cold surface of the counter underneath his fingers, which seemed to burn with an intensity hot enough to melt the ceramic. He tried to swallow the sudden sharpness that had returned to his throat, prickling along the inside, tiny needles that dug into the flesh. He could hear Richard in his ear, feel the overwhelming presence of the man standing over him, looming above him in a suffocating heat.

"You really love him...don't you?" But he didn't need to ask.

Peter turned his gaze from the TV back over to him, tilting his head innocently with a bright look in his bruised eyes and a smile parting his split lip.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Tony said nothing, was too afraid to.

"Hey, kid! Get over here!"

Peter jolted a bit at the shout and craned his neck to glance over his shoulder. Rhodey was gesturing back to the couch, tilting his head at the TV. "You're our play-by-play commentator for this mess."

The teen grinned before glancing back over at Tony. "I gotta-" he jabbed a thumb behind him, Tony nodding absentmindedly before the boy was throwing him a smile and walking away.

He took a breath, took a couple of them, let them out shakily and leveled a hard stare at the counter below his hands, trying and failing to block out the sound of Richard's voice echoing around his ears.

It was hard to deny it now, no matter how much he wanted to. But this did make things much more complicated, if that were even possible.

The idea of getting Peter to turn on his father had been plausible while he'd been under the pretense that the kid held some sort of resentment for the man, some burning hatred bubbling deep inside for everything he'd ever done to him. God knew that's how it had been for Tony. Not once had _love_ ever even entered the billionaire's mind as a possibility. And now that it was...? Now that there _was_ no hate and rage to shape into reason and realization?

He lifted his head, watched Peter hop onto the arm of the couch and fold his legs underneath him, purposely angling himself so that Happy and Rhodey were in his line-of sight, at least visible to the corner of his eye. The boy turned to the TV with a grin, explaining something or other to the two men about the details of what was going on.

Tony should have known.

Peter couldn't _hate_ anybody. He was too pure for that, too strong for that.

The man felt his fingers slowly curl against his palms, brushing against the scars.

It didn't matter. Tony didn't care because it didn't matter. What he'd just heard, what he'd just learned didn't matter. It wouldn't stop him, wouldn't stop his efforts to save this kid. Richard Parker was just another asshole that needed to be put in his place and Tony was damn well prepared to face him head-on for however long it took to get Peter free of him, free of his influence and his lies and his false affections.

He was in this for the long haul and nothing was going to sway him now.

Pepper chose that moment to re-enter the room, pulling her phone away from her face and slipping it back into her pocket as she approached. Her eyes narrowed in on the TV as she took in the scene being displayed, scoffing slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. "Where did they even get the gravy from?"

Peter glanced up at her. "Probably from the cafeteria. Our lunch-lady is pretty chill. Probably even put chunks in it."

Happy cocked a brow. "Chunks of what?"

The teen shrugged. Pepper rounded the couch and stood next to where Rhodey sat. "Well whatever it is, it's burning a hole in the side of the Channel 13 news van."

Rhodey grinned. "If this is what you kids eat, it's no wonder you're all as messed up as you are."

Peter pursed his lips while the Colonel threw him a teasing smirk, the reporters on the screen rising in volume as they tried to be heard over the noise of the roaring crowds.

_"There's has still been no word from either Richard Parker or Tony Stark on the recent developments leading many to speculate on their own as to the reasoning behind the strange occurrences and, just...ugg! Can we cut? I can't...I can't fucking do this. I've covered war zones more peaceful than this!"_

Whatever the man planned on saying next was cut off by the sharp slap of a water balloon exploding against his face. Everyone in the room winced simultaneously at the sight before the camera cut to black. Rhodey shook his head and flipped to another channel, where the other stations and their respective reporters weren't fairing much better. He picked up his own newly-empty plate and rose to his feet.

"Something tells me these reporters better start fashioning a white flag out of someone's underwear."

"Or at least get their own tubs of chili to return counterfire," Happy muttered as he stood up to follow the Colonel, Pepper rolling her eyes as the three of them entered the kitchen to finish cleaning off their plates right as Tony approached the couches and plopped down in the middle of the nearest one, which happened to be the same one Pete was currently perched upon, legs still folded as he watched the screen from his seat atop the arm rest.

Tony let out a sigh as he leaned back against the seat and tried very hard not to fall asleep right then and there, helped somewhat by the manic chanting of the students on the TV. His eyes drifted across the screen, taking in the sight of the news vans lining the streets, the reporters frantically bustling along the grass and the scrawls of text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Despite the auras of chaos radiating from the scene, it was hard not to remember exactly _why_ it was happening.

And they _did_ have a potential solution.

He rested his head against the couch cushions and lazily glanced over at the kid who had yet to acknowledge his presence. "You know, they bring up some fairly good points," he ventured carefully, making sure to keep his voice disinterested and calm.

It seemed to work well enough, for Peter didn't turn to look at him, but he did raise a brow and scoff. "What? You think chili's going to stand a chance against two-month-old gravy?"

"No..." Jeez, this kid. "I mean the reporters. What they're saying."

"About...?"

Tony sat up just a little bit. "About any official word. They're technically right. We haven't put anything out publicly... _yet."_

The smile left his face. Peter turned his head. He didn't look nervous or uncomfortable, not outwardly at least. He stared at the billionaire for a moment before turning a sidelong glance back at the TV. "Right. The...conference."

The man drummed his fingers against the empty couch cushion next to him, watched them make light indents in the surface. "You up for it?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Wasn't that strange of a question. Do you want to do it?"

The teen started watching the man's fingers now. "My dad wants-"

Tony stopped. "I didn't ask about what your dad wants. I'm asking what you want."

"Well what difference does it make?" the teen said without much venom yet still scrunched his nose the same way he always did when he was getting frustrated. He turned away again. "If he wants to do it then we're doing it. End of story."

The billionaire pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, no. I don't think so. He might be able to boss you around but he's going to find it a bit more challenging to do the same to me."

Peter looked back at him, gave him a doubtful look. Tony sighed and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he gestured to the TV. "Look, I know _this_ isn't ideal, especially since there's not much we can do about it other than roll with it. But that doesn't mean I'm going to force you up onto a stage with a bunch of cameras in your face and those idiots spewing questions when they can barely even counter-attack against a gang of nerds. I mean, seriously, does your school even _have_ a football team?"

"Yeah, but they also double as the Mahjong Club."

"Right... Point is, I know how intimidating it can be. Hell, even _I_ hate press conferences. So if you don't want to do this, then we aren't doing it." He scooted a bit closer to the teen's perched seat. Peter didn't squirm. "This entire mess has you smack-dab in the middle, so regardless of what Richard says, you _do_ have a say in this. At least...you do with me."

The teen didn't say anything, didn't show much on his face. He swallowed and glanced down at the bandages on his hands, running his fingers along the seams. Finally, he scooted off the arm rest and slid down onto the actual cushioned seats below it, right next to Tony, the closest he'd been to anybody in the past two hours. He kept his legs tucked underneath him as he rested his back against the arm rest and scratched at one of the bandages on his cheek. "My dad won't like it."

Tony pulled the boy's hand away from his face, ignoring the kid's puff of protest. "Tough. If he has a problem with it, then he can take it up with me. I'll just say I had second thoughts. "He shrugged. "I am pretty flaky so it won't be much of a stretch."

Peter cracked a little smile, letting out a little breath as he rested the side of his head against the back couch cushion, keeping his eyes locked on Tony. "What do _you_ wanna do?"

He shrugged. "Personally, I can take it or leave it. If it'll end this nonsense sooner then I'm all for it. Then again, seeing as how I've basically become a hermit who never leaves his tower, it's not like they really bother me, not as much as they do you, at least."

"Yeah, something tells me my dad's gonna keep me from school for a few days."

Peter didn't say anything after that. Tony decided not to push, simply leaning against the backrest as he lazily pretended to focus on the TV, interwoven fingers sitting on his stomach. He watched the screen, watched the colors beginning to bleed into one another as his brain took the moment to relax and focus on nothing but breathing and staying awake. Everything else seemed to fade slightly, muddying and mingling into barely tangible noises, swirled colors, dulled senses. He could feel the pressure still present behind his eyes but it was softer now, quieter. Everything was.

. . .

"If..."

His brain clicked back on. He turned and focused back in on Peter, who was fiddling with his hands again, or at least, as best he could with three broken fingers. This time he _did_ look a bit more unsure, a bit more like the usual nervousness Tony was used to seeing on his face.

He had to admit, he hadn't missed it.

"If we do...go through with it...you'll be there the whole time?"

Tony smirked. "I _am_ kind of half the attraction."

Peter didn't smile back, just kept staring up at him with a long, searching gaze, hand clenched tightly around his jacket. Tony dropped the smirk, replaced it in favor of a more serious, more calming look of certainty, of assurance.

Of support.

"Yes. I'll be there."

"...the whole time?"

Tony gave a little smile. "The whole time."

Peter nodded and quickly glanced away, swallowing thickly once more as he blew out another breath, slower this time, more deliberate. "Okay. I, uh..." He paused again, scrunching his face slightly before rubbing the look away with his free hand and turning back to Tony.

"Okay."

The man tilted his head a bit. "Okay?"

They shared a look, ignored the noises from the TV still echoing around the room. It was obvious it didn't matter anymore, neither did those reporters or those students or Richard. And if they really tried hard enough, if they really put effort into it, they could almost pretend that the day had _started_ with the two of them sitting on that couch, doing nothing but watching TV and talking and worrying over nothing and nobody. No fighting or screaming or sleeping on the bathroom floor.

Somehow, it made them both feel just a little bit better. 

"Okay."


End file.
